


Sinister x Bleach: Ouroboros

by Son_of_Achlys



Category: Bleach
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Corruption, Dimension Travel, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 118,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25884394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Son_of_Achlys/pseuds/Son_of_Achlys
Summary: The Soul Society has a virus on its hands, one that baffles even Mayuri Kurotsuchi! Years after the first storied battle between Captain-Commander Genryusai Yamamoto and Yhwach, a strange substance, known as the Nether, has invaded the Soul Society, Hueco Mundo and the Human World. Deception becomes normalcy while corruption dissolves previous alliances while forcing new ones to take shape. The story you know soon unravels into a fight for survival everyone is willing to die for. Will Ichigo and his friends be able to survive this interdimensional threat? Or will the Greek primordial, Sinister Maharana,  assimilate everything they know and love? Join the fight for the Soul Society in a journey that tells this familiar story with an ongoing twist!
Comments: 17
Kudos: 22





	1. Let the Beasts Tame Themselves

_ “Ah, that picture... That is a monster that appeared in Soul Society long ago. It appeared when Soul Society was in great need and only brought further turmoil. It will not trouble us again. If, someday, that monster were to appear before us again... I fear that will be the last day I am ever seen in this place.” _

  
  


  * Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto



  
  


A thousand years ago, the Soul Society was attacked by a powerful Quincy named Yhwach. Many perished in this conflict, but it was Genryusai Yamamoto who would claim victory on this day. However, this victory was tainted by mercy and plagued by a sense of unresolved vigor. On this day, that which Yamamoto denied Yhwach’s desire to extinguish the Shinigami race, there was a variable. There had been a demon present besides the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13, one who would haunt him for years to come.

“Begone from here, Yhwach!” Captain-Commander Yamamoto was wreathed in flames and swinging his Zanpakuto at the young, cautious Yhwach. The Father of Quincies did his best to create distance between the two with his Hirenkyaku. A dance came about from this battle to the death as Yamamoto’s flames torched wood and sloughed clay from every dwelling he passed. Every citizen of the Rukongai had been ordered to be evacuated to the less populated areas of the Soul Society by Yamamoto’s right-hand, Yachiru Unohana. Though she was excited at the prospect of matching her blade against an opponent like Yhwach, Yamamoto refused to allow her on the battlefield. Whether this was due to a modicum of mercy or his refusal to allow anyone to stand in the way of him killing Yhwach is unknown.

“Ah, so this is your Bankai. Do all of you Shinigami have such destructive capabilities?” Yhwach’s speed allowed him to grace the building rooftops just seconds before Yamamoto’s flames turned them to ashes, leaving Ywach’s face perpetually dripping with sweat. His tongue struggled to produce adequate saliva for him to speak without having it stick to the floor of his mouth. Indeed, as he continued, he found himself in the much more perilous situation of struggling for breath. Yhwach’s eyes widened as one of Yamamoto’s captains interrupted one of his fast steps with an upward slash. The attack itself, though initially appearing to be a mundane sword strike, turned into the head of a lion, which sank its teeth into Yhwach’s femur.

“No, Yhwach. Some of them have more restrictive capabilities, such as helping me trap a rat running loose in my house.” Yamamoto was on Yhwach before he could realize the brutal strategy laid before him. Thinking on his feet, Yhwach activated his Blut Vene as the searing blade of the Captain-Commander came across his torso. But Ryuujin Jakka refused to be denied its bounty, instead cutting into Yhwach as if the Blut Vene was never activated. Yhwach let out a wheezing refute before enhancing his defenses with his Blut Vene Anhaben. Creating but a moment’s distance between himself and Yamamoto, Yhwach was beginning to ponder if the Captain-Commander was human at all. As Ryuujin Jakka yet again approached, this time, Yhwach raised his leg to allow for the captain to sate his steel instead. 

Yhwach was shocked at Yamamoto’s still expression while he ran the blade through his captain without hesitation. Even more so than the pain of having his leg turn to ash. An intense heat crept along Yhwach’s stomach as he realized that the edge of Ryuujin Jakka had missed his stomach by mere inches, creating a second-degree burn along his abdomen rather than erasing it completely. Yhwach darted back with a hand on his stomach while he knelt atop one of the only remaining structures in the Rukongai. His words lacked any sense of conviction, scarred by both dehydration and a burn that refused to give him respite. “How ruthless of you….Yamamoto. I see your captains are just as disposable as this slum.”

“The Gotei 13 understand that they protect the Soul Society with their very lives. It is a bond that you do not seem to share with your lieutenants, as they have become but ash before us both.” Yamamoto paced slowly over to Yhwach with the appearance of his raging inferno dissipating. Rather than allow Yhwach the illusion of his flames vanishing as a perceptive sense of mercy, he replaced one factor of intimidation with another. Pencil-thick veins traversed Yamamoto’s Herculean frame and deep striations made his already engorged muscles seem otherworldly. His thick mustache anchored itself upon a face of stone, carved from pride and power. Yet, from a far corner of his mouth, from the smallest of facial distortions, a sadist appeared. “Three times I have stricken you, Yhwach. Sankt Altar, Blut Vene, Heilig Pfiel -- all useless before my Bankai. You have witnessed this yourself. Do you still wish to hand over your life so readily to a god of death? Is your existence so meager, Quincy? Do respond quickly. I sense you do not have much oxygen left to feed my flames.”

Yamamoto heard Yhwach’s mouth tear against itself in its struggle to open, watching the blood that ruptured out evaporate into a fine mist. When he could produce no retort but a rattling wheeze and a defiant raising of his Reishi sword, Yamamoto moved in for the final blow. Instead of slicing through Yhwach, though, Ryuujin Jakka carved into a rather tall silhouette. Yamamoto took a few steps back while keeping his eyes on the distorted shadow in-between himself and Yhwach. “What is this? Another trick of the Quincy? Or one of your lieutenants who came to save their leader?”

Somehow, the presence of the silhouette brought moisture to Yhwach’s body, a light dew tinted pink which didn’t immediately evaporate. Somehow, Yhwach suddenly found the words. “No. Who...whatever this is, it is not a Quincy.”

Yamamoto saw that the silhouette wasn’t burning from the flames of his Ryuujin Jakka, nor did his initial attack rend him completely from his sight. Instead, the gash that it created along its “body” quickly reformed until the silhouette was whole once again. The silhouette soon solidified into a viscous material with an ebony sheen reflecting the light of the moon. It wasn’t until the silhouette formed eyes that Yamamoto believed the being to be of Hueco Mundo, a creature that had no place whatsoever in the Soul Society. “Who are you? Has King Barragan sent you? If so, I’ll be glad to send you back to his throne in an urn!”

The silhouette didn’t immediately respond, instead having its eyes shift to heterochromatic shades -- one a burning crimson and the other a sickly yellow. Its body continued to form, shifting to a chiseled physique similar to Yamamoto. Three quarter-sized holes appeared on its torso, spread in even distances along the collarbone and filled with the shallow glow of ruby energy. The slick black flesh seemed to taper off at its neck in thinning strands that mirrored veins, giving way to caramel skin and a rather gentle human face. Gracing the crown of its head were thick rows of braided, platinum blonde hair with even spaces between them, extending down to the nape of its neck. When it opened its mouth to speak, every word carried a weighty bass. If not for one looking at him as he spoke, it could have been assumed that the very area Yamamoto and Yhwach were standing in was speaking to them. “Interesting. Another dimension of savages. I do not know of any royalty in this realm but I will make myself acquainted soon enough. What is your name?”

Yamamoto became impatient trying to figure out the identity of this strange being and even more infuriated at the fact that the fight was going on longer than it needed to. The Captain-Commander’s free hand thrust against the chest of the silhouette, initiating the Hakuda technique of Ikkotsu. At the tail end of the maneuver, his fingers flexed open and his arm arced out to his side to swipe him from sight. He was somewhat pleased to see most of his torso destroyed as the being was flung away with little effort. His steady steps continued until he was looming over the defiant Yhwach, invisible flames lapping at his face. “Enough of this stalling. The death of my captains won’t be in vain. Cast your eyes upon me, Quincy, and die!”

“Just like children, you two are. Resorting to force rather than using reasoning. Sounds like I arrived just in time.” Yamamoto heard the silhouette’s voice once more, closer and with the uncomfortable waft of breath upon his ear. The realization that someone’s hand was softly placed upon his shoulder, bypassing his Zanka no Tachi: Kyokojitsujin, quickly shifted his attention from Yhwach to the strange being behind him. “I asked you for your name. I’m more than willing to offer mine in return.”

“How are you standing so close to me right now? What in the hell are you? A Hollow? An Arrancar?! Open your mouth and speak, you demon.” Yamamoto’s back was turned to Yhwach but the latter was kept kneeling from the Captain-Commander’s oxygen-stealing flames.

“I don’t know what a Hollow or an Arrancar is but you would do well not to compare me to such knuckle-dragging, scum-sucking wastes of life like demons. It is  _ very _ disgraceful. My name is Sinister Maharana, Son of Achlys and Bringer of the Vantablack Genesis. I have come to your dimension to liberate all who would wish to be free of the illusion of the gods, the Pantheon.” Sinister’s explanation came with a brief split of his lips, revealing healthy, unusually white rows of teeth. “Now, please, it’s only fair to tell me who you are, especially considering you’ve tried to kill me twice in the last few minutes.”

“Captain-Commander Genryusai Yamamoto of the Gotei 13 and you have impeded the duties of a military operation during wartime.” Yamamoto raised the edge of his Ryuujin Jakka to rest but inches away from Sinister’s face. “Because you are a fool with luck beyond words, I will extend this one mercy and allow you to leave my presence with your life. However, any utterance toward me otherwise will result in your existence defaulting by way of my blade.”

“If your power revolves around heat, then I’m afraid your threats are rather empty. My body is immune to thermal manipulation and quite a few other things you would be surprised to learn about.” Sinister exhaled through his nose with eyes half-lidded. “I apologize for the intrusion, Captain-Commander, I truly do, but this “war” you seem to be having with this heavily injured gentleman is highly unnecessary. I have come to put a stop to all this conflict, to put a stop to death as an endpoint. I want to unite everyone in this dimension under the All-Mother, to give you all true freedom.”

Although Yamamoto’s unchanging expression communicated to Sinister that his silver tongue was spewing more bullshit than he could stand, Ywach’s eyes were filled with a morbid curiosity as he craned his neck about Yamamoto to get a better look at the man. Sinister’s head moved unreasonably fast to look at Yhwach with a widening smile, this time hiding his teeth. The strange dew once more came upon the Quincy, smelling and tasting of grapes, charcoal and lilacs. His tongue marinated in the pink dew that graced his body, finding enough strength to use his Hirenkyaku to move to the side of them both. Still kneeling, he was unnerved that Sinister’s gaze had followed where he went so quickly, as if his eyes never left him. “A world without an end? Do you speak of immortality or reincarnation? Your Reiatsu, it’s….different.”

“Reiatsu? Is that what you call energy here?” The tip of Yamamoto’s blade ran through Sinister’s chest, making him shift his attention back to the burly Captain-Commander and drop his smile. Sinister wrapped a hand around Yamamoto’s blade, running his thumb along the steel with eyes locked on him. His foot launched to stomp in Yamamoto’s chest. Though there was no sound of cracking bones or a splash of blood to color his trail, the Captain-Commander was sent flying back a quarter mile before he caught himself in the air. “That’s three times. I’ve done nothing to you but speak of peace and unity and here you are, the brute, trying to kill me. I told you that thermal energy does nothing to me. Do you know why? Because, like you, I too have a relationship with anger. A deep, intimate relationship that manifests as a handy little ability. However, unlike you, I have manners.”

Yhwach's breathing soon returned to a manageable rate. His eyes couldn't seem to break from Sinister's gaze and a warmth, far different from Yamamoto's, enveloped him. The painful cauterization of what remained of his incinerated leg barely registered to him in Sinister's presence. A heart that once raced with fear and anxiety now fluttered in its descent into ecstasy. In under a minute, Yhwach was at peace. "No Hollow has Reiatsu like this. No Shinigami would oppose their Captain-Commander so calmly. You aren't from this world, are you?"

Sinister knelt down and placed his hands on either side of Yhwach's face, letting his smile gradually return. Fingers meandered through his long, flowing hair as the mixed scent emanating from his body intensified to the point of overpowering the stench of smoldering slag beneath them. "No, I am not. But I have come to bring salvation and peace. To free those who don't even realize that they are enslaved. Tell me, what is your name?"

Yhwach inhaled deeply of Sinister's aroma before responding. A purple light flickered in his eyes. "I am Yhwach, Father of the Quincies."

"How wonderful. I am a father as well and have many children that I look after, even in my continuous efforts of liberating more." Sinister parted Yhwach's wavy hair to rub the center of his forehead with his thumb. "Would you like to join my family, Yhwach? I can already tell you acclimate well to my power. You would be a much more capable father if I give you even a fraction of my strength. You could save your Quincy children and help bring forth an era of peace. One without fighting or wars. One where everyone raises one another up. Calls each other brother and sister instead of an enemy. Would you like to take part in such a thing?"

Yhwach felt a deep vibration that permeated his skin and tried to settle in his bones. The literal mind-numbing effect Sinister was having on him nearly made him forget that he was fighting for his life against Yamamoto. He felt his body being ripped over the edge of logic, falling into a trance-like state while Sinister's hand started to take on a purple glow. "I will-"

"NOT!" The blackened skies of the Soul Society split open. Blinding light was cast upon Sinister from the heavens while a massive right hand descended to dwarf them and most of the Rukongai. As it cast a shadow on the Soul Society, Sinister fell from the sky and cratered against the Earth. His muscles entered a feverish seizure while wisps of steam and smoke rose from bubbling flesh. Sinister gnashed his teeth with eyes of seething rage being directed at the Right Hand of the Soul King. "THIS WILL NOT COME TO PASS."

The Right Hand enveloped Yhwach with its fingers, subjecting him to a dazzling visual of Reishi that blinded all who dared to look upon the display. Blackened clouds were eviscerated by the illumination while day and night flickered among the skies. Once the light ceased, The Right Hand turned over, palm up and knuckles down to reveal an infantile version of the once-mighty Yhwach. Barely capable of understanding the world around him, he let out a cry that split the air like a sonic screech.

Yamamoto was already on his way to split Yhwach in two, Ryuujin Jakka at the ready in mid-dash. However, all of his murderous energy and destructive rage quelled once he reached the slowly ascending Right Hand of the Soul King. His eyes did not rest on the limb or the overwhelming Reiatsu that forced him to take a knee. Rather, the screaming, babbling mound of innocence that was being taken from the battlefield caused him to stay his blade. Instead of being swaddled in the flames of hell, Yhwach was to be confined in a slumber that would become Quincy legend. Deactivating his Bankai, Yamamoto descended to the ground to stand beside the seizing shadow that was now at his mercy, a concept he was still trying to grasp.

The skies soon yielded to the night and the blackness of the man who filled the air with soot and ash. Yamamoto's eyes fell from the sky to weigh against Sinister, who was still wrapped tightly in the fetal position. His voice was calm, still but firm. As soon as the darkness enveloped them both, Sinister tried to pull himself from the ground. Yamamoto slammed his sandaled foot against Sinister's chest and spoke. "Rikujokoro."

Six thin yellow beams of light slammed against Sinister's torso and encircled just below Yamamoto's foot. Sinister began to twitch and seize again, looking to Yamamoto with a great deal of disdain. "I don't know what you are and don't care who you are. But this war has seemingly come to an end because of the Soul King's ruling. Whether or not that has to do with your arrival, I am uncertain. What I am quite certain of, however, is that all foul fiends who slither out from the dark always have a fear of the light. At first, I believed it was just the power of the Soul King but when the darkness returned, I was sure. As for your offer to invite me into your family, I already have a family. Though, I must thank you in that….in retrospect, I have not been treating them well."

"That is an understatement, Captain-Commander." Yachiru Unohana's feet were heard crunching against the ash and debris that was once the Rukongai, one hand remaining steady on the handle of her Zanpakuto.

"My revelation is not a revocation of the order I gave, Unohana." Yamamoto twisted his heel into Sinister's chest, listening to him groan in pain. "However, due to these highly unusual circumstances, your presence is acceptable. Are Shunsui and Ukitake safe?"

"Sleeping, if you can believe it. Shunsui, at least. Ukitake commented about the light in the sky, assuming it was the work of your Bankai. I told him I would check on their Captain-Commander while they remain in their barracks." Unohana's slitted eyes stared down at the paralyzed Sinister. "Doesn't look like a Quincy. Is this a Hollow?"

"I'm not entirely sure. It said its name was Sinister Maharana. It appeared right before I was about to strike down Yhwach. But I'll speak on him when we return to the barracks and after I execute this pest. Step back, Yachiru." Yamamoto's blade was sheathed back into its scabbard as his Reiatsu whipped around his body. He cocked his arms back along his waist, inhaling slowly to fill his lungs while leaping into the air. The gap in power between them, in this moment, was solidified with the sudden usage of Sokotsu. His masterful usage of Shunpo made his descent and impact all the more terrifying. As if lightning hailed down upon the Earth, Yamamoto's Hakuda strike ripped through Sinister's body.

Though Sinister's body struggled to reform, he was ignorant in just how powerful Yamamoto was. The Captain-Commander followed through with the attack by continuously fueling it with more Reiatsu, deepening the crater by the second. Sinister's inky mass split, shattered and disintegrated under his might, leaving Yamamoto with but a whimper in his farewell. When the dust cleared, Yamamoto climbed out of the burial site he formed for Sinister, dusting himself off. He looked around, not in victory, but in pensive thought.

"I sense this was not a conflict the idea of victory can be applied to." Yachiru walked closer to him, taking a few glances at the smoking pit.

"Does my disposition give away so much?" Yamamoto pulled his haori up over his shoulders to wrap around his torso, adjusting it back to its proper place.

"You sheathed your blade, Captain-Commander. You did not cut him. You did not burn him. I can only assume this means that, somehow, he rendered those ways ineffective. In which case, you sense that this battle is not yet over." At the tail-end of her sentence, her lips curved into a sadistic smile.

"It was hiding its Reiatsu but I could sense a monstrous amount beneath the surface. He struck me only once but I felt it. I felt a pain I'm not used to and it left its mark." He started walking away from the Rukongai, crushing through the remains of his captains while interlocking his sleeves to cover his hands. "I am certain that it is dead. I am certain that I have destroyed its body. But I am not certain if it will stay that way. Any rage that burns hotter than Ryuujin Jakka will refuse to be quelled."

"And what if it does return?" Unohana took a more relaxed stride, letting her shoulders shift with her walk.

"Then he will experience a fate worse than death."

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 1 End_ **


	2. Geppetto's Gamble

_"You should not dwell on the betrayal that you can see. The truly terrifying betrayal is that which lies utterly hidden from your eyes."_

  
  


  * Sosuke Aizen



  
  


Sosuke Aizen's fingers danced across a keyboard, only stopping intermittently to push his glasses up along the bridge of his nose or brush a strand of thick hair from his face. A black screen raced with green data and repeating keywords as he typed.. A loud slap of his middle finger against one of the keys signaled the momentary end of his typing frenzy. His face glanced upward to the much larger monitor hanging on the wall of the underground laboratory, watching a live feed of the Soul Society.

A single tap shifted his perspective, from the Rukongai to the Seireitei to other areas of the Soul Society. With yet another tap, the screen shifted to Hueco Mundo and King Barragan’s bony figure sitting lazily on his throne. Aizen scoffed and rose from his chair to let his jacket flare out just inches from the floor. "Almost time to test the hybrid."

Aizen walked through a steel-laden corridor, the soft glow of fluorescent light highlighting his harmless disposition. He pressed his hand against a panel beside a door at the end of the corridor, allowing a brief scan of his palm before the entryway was cleared with a slick whoosh. The containment room flooded him with a blue glow that originated from the handful of tanks anchored against the far wall. Each tank had someone, or something, submersed in the preservation fluid. A dead Shinigami half clothed in their Shihakuso, the anguished corpse of an orphan, half of a geriatric woman and a grouping of Hollowfied limbs filled four of the five tanks.

Aizen entered the containment room with his attention focused solely on the fifth tank. He stood just inches away from the humanoid figure floating in its fluid, marveling at its progress with widened eyes and a growing smile. With its forward pointing horns, armored black body and white skeletal mask, Aizen believed that this experiment would be the one to turn the tide in his plans for the Soul Society. But, in the midst of his scientific marveling, the curiosity in his eyes was replaced with suspicion. "Hiding isn't really an option in my presence."

Aizen turned from his Hollow experiment to stare directly at a pocket of darkness in the corner of the room closest to the door, which slammed shut the moment his attention shifted. The darkness took on amorphous properties as it molded into a tall humanoid shape with red and yellow eyes gazing down at him. The shadows retreated into a constant, swirling veil to reveal the malevolent Sinister Maharana, presenting his towering wall of muscle to the Shinigami. "There is a difference between hiding and observation, Sosuke Aizen."

He looked over Sinister’s body and scoffed. "I sensed a presence in my lab three days ago but it was so fleeting, I assumed it to be the flickering Reiatsu of my experiment."

"You're just as observant as I thought." Sinister appeared beside Aizen while his attention turned to the hybrid in its tank. His dense, warm hand came to rest gently on the Shinigami’s shoulder. Aizen was unnerved that he actually had to stop and register his seamless movement. "Interesting mechanism. Is the creature alive?"

Aizen stepped away to gain distance between himself and Sinister, giving a small pause before responding in his usual charismatic tone. "Indeed it is. Though, its usefulness has yet to be gauged. By the way, it's rather rude to invade someone's personal space like that, especially without introducing yourself. In most cases, people would call that behavior quite volatile and react accordingly."

"Mmm. But you're not volatile, are you Sosuke? At least not outwardly. You're much more of a sleuth, preferring to stick to the shadows and have others put blade to flesh for your own needs. Quite the puppet master." Sinister pressed a hand against the glass of the tank. His eyes gazed longingly at the creature, as if lamenting the condition of a loved one. "Forgive my abruptness. I am Sinister Maharana, Son of Achlys and Bringer of the Vantablack Genesis. Hm. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve spoken those words, how many worlds have heard them.. And you, of course, are Sosuke Aizen, lieutenant of Squad Five under Captain Shinji Hirako. Correct?"

Aizen's hand moved to the hilt of his Zanpakuto as a warm expression spread across his face. The sword was sluggishly drawn with the blade pointed to the floor. "You seem to know quite a bit about me. I assume you also know about my Zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu?”

Sinister’s neck craned and his face barely turned to look at Aizen. Soon, his eyes came to rest on the blade of the sword, examining it. “Oh, yes. The Zanpakuto. Swords imprinted with the soul of its user. Strange abilities and the like. Unfortunately, no one I assimilated seemed to have any information on _your_ weaponry. Though, it looks quite ordinary.”

“You’re right. To many people, it does appear to be an ordinary sword, though it has a very useful ability.” Aizen’s sword gleamed as Sinister gazed at it. “If you wish for a demonstration, why don’t you try to strike me? My subject’s progress has been going swimmingly, so I have some time for a lesson.”

Sinister turned his entire body to Aizen and started his walk toward him. He stopped short of the lieutenant during his steady stride and looked to his sword before staring back at him.. His eyes bore into those of Aizen through an uncomfortable silence before he backhanded him across the face, sending him, his Zanpakuto and his glasses flying across the floor. Sinister scoffed as he quickly walked over to the downed Lieutenant, placing a foot on his blade. “An illusion? A magic trick? Is that what bolstered your arrogance so?”

In a rare show, Aizen was surprised at what had taken place. His eyes widened as he looked up to Sinister with a scowl. “How did you….my Kyoka Suigetsu…”

“ **A Head Full of Dreams** . That’s what I like to call it.” Sinister lifted his foot from Aizen’s Zanpakuto, allowing him to pull it from the floor and hastily point it at him as he rose from the ground. “I have encountered the very beings who _created_ the concept of illusionary techniques. I have also been tortured with them before time was a concept. Ringing of the ears, fluctuations in perception, shifting of energies, masking of once apparent auras, sudden perceptive alerts among the commonplace --- it’s like a chess board that swaps pieces ever so slightly. You get to understand the signs that they all share, in one way or another. As such, I learned to develop a technique that allowed for me to bypass such tomfoolery. If you rely too much on an illusion to achieve your goals, your own value will be nullified.”

Aizen dusted himself off before putting his glasses back on, letting pride flood his briefly shaken ego. “It is a rarity for anyone to break my Kyoka Suigetsu, let alone be completely immune to its effects. But I have yet to see any Hollow, Human or Shinigami possess such an ability. If one were to infer your age, what you suggest is ludicrous.”

Sinister laughed. He appeared inches away from Aizen to brush a loose lock of hair back into his head and then appeared before the creature’s tank once more in another audacious display of speed. Yet again, Aizen was fighting the urge to destroy Sinister because of White’s development, trying to find an answer as to who or what he was. “As I told Captain-Commander Yamamoto thousands of years ago, I am not a Hollow, a Human or a Shinigami. I am a primordial, a being that emerged alongside the gods. But every dimension or reality seems to have different gods, different beings at the pinnacle of existence. In this reality, for example, you have the Soul King.”

Aizen’s smug expression turned to annoyance. His intelligence was being put into question from Sinister’s very presence, something he didn’t feel unless he were around Kisuke Urahara for more than five minutes. His tone lost its dreamy candor and his body slightly tensed. Although he posed a simple question, the sound of his voice was that of a command. “Why are you here?”

“I am here to save creation. I was planning to start with a certain _aristocrat_ but he ended up being frustratingly unreasonable and psychotic. He was locked away in some underground prison after an attempted siege, much like what you seem to be planning.” His hand returned to the glass surface of the tank, hand pressed flat against it as his eyes focused on White. “I know what it’s like to be trapped in a situation with no way out. To be subjected to all kinds of torture and urged to praise your tormentors. It does things to a person, Sosuke. Things I would never wish to subject someone to.”

“Are you speaking to me or the experiment?” Aizen squinted.

“Both of you. I don’t think you would fight this hard and go through all of this planning if you were not trapped in your own cage.” Sinister turned his body to face Aizen with his hand still pressed against the glass. “I’m not here to fight you, Sosuke, nor am I here to stop your plans. I am here to help you.”

Aizen’s cocky smirk immediately returned upon hearing Sinister’s intentions. He sheathed his Zanpakuto and adjusted his glasses. “What makes you believe I am a prisoner? I simply seek to occupy an empty throne, to enact rule where there has been none. I’m taking advantage of an opportunity where others are either too stupid or too afraid to. While you believe yourself a savior, I am an opportunist. Take now for example--”

Sinister’s eyes widened at the sight of Aizen pulling a small device from his pocket, oblong in shape with a blue button at the end of its silver knob. With a press, the laboratory walls elicited a blinding light, drowning the specimen room with a kido similar to Rikojokuro. Sinister almost immediately fell to his knees, clenching his teeth with seething breaths. “Damn….it!”

“You must not have listened to anything I said during our introduction. I said that I knew of a foreign presence in this laboratory days before you revealed yourself. I set a lab-wide kido trap similar to the paralyzing spell of Rikujokoro, tweaked to be strong enough to bring even Captain-level Shinigami to their knees. Would you not think that someone like myself would have made adjustments to ensure that any intruders would be eliminated? Though, your ignorance isn’t what surprises me the most.” Aizen slowly approached Sinister as the latter was reluctantly entering a fetal position from the light bombarding him on all sides. “You must have been watching me like a hawk, knowing everything about me. Furthermore, you must have been around for quite a long time if you’ve crossed paths with Yamamoto. You had to have been watching me as I installed the lab upgrades. Why didn’t you stop me? You couldn’t have been ignorant of kido. Do you not understand...technology?”

“Silence!” Sinister struggled to speak through the pain assaulting his body, eyes darting from Aizen to the device he clutched in his hand. “Technology is a horrid invention of the gods! I would _never_ defile my mind by indulging in such wicked knowledge! It must be destroyed!”

Aizen’s laughter emerged with a powerful bellow, forcing him to hold his stomach as he stumbled back.The laughter soon turned into a mighty howl of ridicule which lasted, in spurts and fits, for about three minutes. It only came to a stop when a tear had to be wiped from his eye. “I don’t know whether to be insulted at the waste of time you’ve brought me or disappointed at wasted potential. Either way, since you _did_ say that you weren’t here to stop me, I’m sure you’ll be just fine resting at the foot of what will be the end of the Soul Society’s regime.”

Sinister strained to keep his eyes open from the pain as he saw Aizen open the lab door. Laughter echoed throughout the corridor occasionally as Aizen’s slow, vanishing steps vexed him. Red and yellow eyes quickly flickered into matching purple hues as veins rapidly surfaced along his entire body. From a gnashing of teeth came Sinister’s latent rage and an earth-rending shout that made Aizen stop. As his head craned about to look at the opened door, he was surprised to see Sinister standing on his feet and fighting through the pain of the light that still plagued him. But his body was different, losing its sleek, detailed features for a malevolent shadow that flared out with a tendril-shaped aura of black and purple. “I…. _tire_...of….this!”

As Aizen set his hand upon the handle of his Zanpakuto, the specimen’s room flickered to black with the deafening thud of the walls being crushed. Panel by panel, the corridor Aizen stood in soon followed suit, leaving only the flickering sparks of broken paneling to mark the ominous steps of Sinister. Purple eyes blazed as they pierced through Aizen’s confidence, leaving him to cast a kido spell directly. “A strong one. Determined. But a direct spell should be more than enough to incapacitate you.”

But as the spellbinding columns of Rikujokuro impacted Sinister’s body, his own strange aura managed to keep them at bay. It acted as a caustic barrier and slowly swallowed the beams of light. At most, the spell only slowed down his steps. Sinister’s voice filled the entire laboratory as his arms flexed out in a sharp dispellment of Aizen’s attempt. “Spells, swords, even the sharpness of a devil’s tongue -- they all pale in comparison to the Nether, Sosuke. What you see before you is the very _essence_ of Death, the rending of _all things_ back to dust and ash. I am its progenitor and only the power of a god could even _dare_ fell me.”

“And just who do you believe you are speaking to?” Aizen’s face twisted into a look of insult as if his own hubris was finally meeting its equal, something he couldn’t afford to believe existed. His squinted eyes suddenly bulged at the feeling of his chest sinking with a sharp pang of pain. His body hurtled through the now darkened corridor to crash against one of the monitors at his computer station, feeling shattered glass and cold steel thrust against his back.

“ **I Speed at Night**. The darker it is, the faster I can move. In total darkness, even the fastest being is but a straining slug.” Blows rapidly fell upon Aizen’s body, with one smashing through his glasses and another denting his throat. In the span of time it took for the lieutenant to exhale, Sinister’s dense hands had deformed his body like crumpled paper. Though, all Aizen could see were Sinister’s purple eyes floating in the darkness. There were a few blinking lights and the occasional spark of damaged wall paneling but, for the most part, Aizen felt adrift in the artificial void. There was a part of him, one that cleaved onto every single thing that he did, that believed that he was only as good as the choices he made. Up until now, every choice he made was calculated and even the margin of error he had was covered by some outlandish sense of preparation. But there was no way he could have ever prepared for this. “Now, should I beat you to death? Or slowly induce necrosis to your body, just as I ate away your magic trick?”

“We...should continue a dialogue…” Aizen spit a mouthful of blood, watching the wave of crimson gleam from Sinister’s purple glare on its way to the floor below. His pride told him that death was imminent for Sinister, that all he needed to do was utilize a Hadou that could wipe him from his sight. But his brain knew that, if death was on anyone’s doorstep, it was his. In that moment, thoughts commingled and a plot was weaved. This time, he would ignore the instincts of the warrior and rely on the winning strategy of the tactician. “After all...you did say that….you were here to help me. Right?”

A full minute of silence followed Aizen’s proposition, filled only by staggered breaths and the racing pulse of his heart. The laboratory returned to a dim lighting and washed the area in a gentle yet eerie shade of purple. A smile slowly returned to Sinister’s face as he pulled Aizen off of the partially smashed console, letting shards of glass fall from the broken monitor. He brushed Aizen off attentively and slicked back his hair. “Of course. A good father always helps his children. The kind of power that _I_ wield, Sosuke, can be yours too. The power to overwhelm your enemies, the power to dispel even the mightiest abilities in a single stroke, the power to finally dethrone the god that rules over these realms -- is that not what you work to achieve? You call yourself an opportunist. After witnessing first-hand what I can do, can you really afford to pass this up?”

“Every offer has a condition. What is yours?” Aizen wiped blood from his lips with the back of his hand. 

“All I ask is that you join my family, Sosuke. Join the new generation, one that will do away with mortality and the frailty of moral boundaries. All who join my family will be branded with a symbol of that transcendent status called The Mark of Theta. It is not a symbol of ownership or subjugation but one of unity among those who join with you and freedom from the plateaus set before you.” Sinister raised his pointer and middle finger to hover inches away from Aizen’s forehead. “However, I can not foretell how your body will react to the Nether. As I said before, it is the Deathforce, a primordial element that can end the existence of anything that crosses its path, depending on its potency. Should you accept it, Sosuke, it will test the very fiber of your being. Will you allow me to help you?”

Though Aizen held tight to his pride and wielded power that defied the imagination, there was a void that even he had to admit could not be filled by fervent effort. The mixed scent of charcoal, lilacs and grapes had grown intense, helping him rest upon the one flaw that was buried deep inside himself, inside his Zanpakuto. His pride told him to defy the danger that offered an olive branch, but his heart, having its razor-thin opening pried open by this beast, gave heed. If only for the twinkling of an eye. From that drop of vulnerability, whether from the possibility of defeat or an insatiable intrigue beyond his knowledge, Aizen spoke a soft, confident reply. “Do it.”

Sinister pressed his fingers against Aizen’s forehead with warmth spreading across his face. Black fluid crawled from Sinister’s pores to form the Greek Theta symbol atop Aizen’s flesh, creating a thin layer of what appeared to be ink. As Sinister pulled his fingers from his head, the substance immediately carved the symbol deep into his skull. It ate away any droplets of blood before it could rush from bursting blood vessels, forming a perpetual spiral of red vapor from the drying wound. Aizen’s hands quickly gripped the workstation behind him, digging his fingers through the steel and into the internal circuitry with mouth agape. 

Instead of screams bellowing out from the lieutenant’s widened mouth, there came only short gasps and sharp inhales. Veins congregated around the fresh wound to spread down his temples and race down his neck. The inky fluid oozed through the wound and into his skull, having the wound miraculously heal as if no injury ever occurred. However, the pain magnified, finally summoning the screams that had been, so far, silent. Aizen’s calming voice devolved into a primal roar, raising and lowering in octaves in the fight his body had now entered. Muscle and tendon longed to tear themselves from his flesh just to escape the nerves that crackled with agony. Every pump of blood from his heart, through his veins, acidic in its travel and sluggish in its delivery.

Hurried groups of inhales and exhales tried to preface a sense of control as Aizen managed to bring himself to his knees. His Reiatsu fluctuated while a fist repeatedly pounded against the floor to bring out animalistic screech, one that called the attention of Captain Gin Ichimaru and Captain Kaname Tosen. Gin was the first to throw out an inquiry with his usual insincere tone. “Oh dear, has one of your experiments escaped its containment? I never thought Captain Aizen would fall prey to one of his pet projects. Quite the stinky thing, isn’t it, Captain Tosen?”

Sinister turned to Gin and Tosen, the latter much more on edge. “Hello Captain Ichimaru, Captain Tosen. Don’t fret about the condition of dear Sosuke. He is simply undergoing a transformation, an evolution. The purity of my power will cause his body to enter the throes of death again and again for twenty-four hours, recovering from an aggressive case of rapid necrosis on the physical, spiritual and mental planes. He will be in constant pain throughout but he shouldn’t die since he has already been marked.”

“Marked for what?! Gin, this is not an experiment. It must be a Hollow that made its way here. Perhaps King Barragan was more displeased with our incursion into Hueco Mundo than we planned.” Tosen’s hand immediately went to grab his blade but Gin’s brows furrowed and his hand slowly dropped from its handle. He elicited a light hum and remained in place while Tosen used Shunpo to try and decapitate Sinister. The dark fiend raised one hand to catch his Zanpakuto and another to palm his face, effortlessly holding him off the ground.

“Kaname Tosen, the blind swordsman. To be born without the opportunity to see the world around you, your friends and the beauty of your own combat. What a shame. There seems to be an emptiness you wish to fill with petty vengeance. I will free your perturbed spirit.” Suzumushi was discarded from Tosen’s grip and a pulse of purple energy surged through Tosen’s face before he was tossed into a corner of the room. “How does it feel to see the world as it truly is?”

Gin looked to see Tosen’s visor dripping from the sides of his face as melted, liquid fragments, revealing purple wisps of steam rising from his eyes. Short yelps left his mouth as he reached to touch them. He blinked rapidly before stopping to stare back at Gin with tears welling in his eyes. Gin could tell, from the wild darting of Tosen’s eyes and the childlike intrigue of his body, that he was undergoing a sensory shock. His face soon turned from the struggling captain to Sinister, intrigued. “Oh, you’re definitely a spooky one. Giving Tosen his sight? No Hollow that I know of has that kind of power. And I think I can safely rule out Shinigami or human.”

“Yes, you can. Why did you hesitate in drawing your sword against me, Gin? From the stories I’ve heard about you, your Zanpakuto could have easily pierced me where you stood.” Sinister stepped closer to Gin, leaving less than an arms-length of space and forcing him to breathe in the strange, smoky, floral concoction of his natural aroma. “I’m sure you two could sense the same energy or Reiatsu, as you call it.”

Surprisingly, Gin’s smile never faded. “Yes and yes! But, well, the thing is, I’m really getting a kick out of all this.”

The power dynamic had shifted in so few words and Sinister was feeling a bit hesitant with Gin’s unbothered disposition. Gin emanated an aura that made his anxiety rise by the second and he made the decision to give the captain his space. “Are these not your fellow captains, even in your planned treachery against the Soul Society? Or is there no honor among thieves?”

“I mean, it’s just that this all seems like a pretty big power grab and, by making Aizen crawl around the floor like a helpless child, there’s not really much to be done in opposition. Not that I don’t like a little scrap now and then to keep things from getting boring but…” Gin’s eyes opened by the smallest amount, letting Sinister see the piercing blue beneath his pallid flesh. “From what you’ve done, you’re not an enemy to me. In fact, I think I’ll help you shake things up a bit around here. Ah, but I have two conditions. Don’t worry, they’re pretty simple.”

Nervous laughter staggered out of Sinister’s mouth before he put on an air of confidence. He was annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of unease he was feeling around Gin, refusing to take his eyes off of him. “And in what position do you believe you’re in to make a bargain? You should be grateful that I am here to save you from the heresy of this realm.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable? Is it my hair? My smile? Maybe my eyes?” Gin’s voice descended into a lower register. Even with Aizen’s wails of agony, everything seemed dead silent to Gin and Sinister, air thick enough to chew. “Tell me, where do you think that sinking feeling is coming from?”

The responsibility of breaking such a hefty silence was palpable yet Sinister’s face remained stoic. Limb by limb, his body started to fade away into the shadow he cast along the floor while he stared Gin down. “Keep watch over these two. In twenty-four hours, they will be reborn. Do that and I will hear the conditions of your offer.”

Gin sighed and let out an annoyed grunt as he pulled up one of the computer chairs. He sat in it backwards, resting his chin atop the chair’s back and his own forearms. “Great. Babysitting.”

The overwhelming pain was finally starting to attack Aizen at his core while his gaze was fixated on Gin. Once Gin’s face turned to watch Aizen, his own screams became static and vision devolved into a muddy blur. A hard thud against the floor ushered him from the conscious world.

**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 2 End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading through this next chapter! Feel free to comment and bookmark so that you can follow this story. Expect a new chapter next week!


	3. Linger

_ "Information gained from literature is nothing more than that - information. I am not inclined to trust it without proving the facts for myself." _

  
  


  * Mayuri Kurotsuchi



  
  


A decade after the attack on Naruki City, the Soul Society had entered a time of caution and paranoia. No sooner had Captain Toshiro Hitsugaya finished his Captain’s Exam did Captain-Commander Yamamoto call an emergency meeting for the Gotei 13. All captains immediately made their way to their commander’s quarters at the noon hour as the sun shined on an unusually chaotic Rukongai. A strange black substance filled the roads and alleyways like a crude oil spill, slicked across residents and their homes all the same. It was an issue that had only been addressed in bits and pieces, a plague of unknown origin that created issues fighting couldn’t necessarily solve. Yamamoto stared solemnly at the captains upon entry, making sure he was the only one who had the privilege of sitting.

“As all of you may have realized by now, the Soul Society has been in the tightening grip of an unprecedented epidemic. For the past few months, an illness has befallen different groups of people in the form of a mysterious black substance. At first, it was believed to be the work of a criminal organization within the Soul Society. However, I am beginning to believe that it is of a different origin altogether. I have called this emergency meeting to gather information from each of you on what the effects on your different districts are, as well as a proposed solution on the matter.”

Aizen pushed his glasses up along the bridge of his nose to look at his fellow captains. His eyes briefly stopped on Mayuri, who was staring in his direction ever since he appeared in the room. “I’m sure that everyone here can agree to the fact that this illness is becoming worse by the day. The 5th Division’s districts in the Rukongai have had 28 deaths this past week. Lieutenant Momo and I have been working feverishly to try and document and contain the spread but it continues to elude us. I would most certainly recommend implementing a quarantine procedure in all districts of the Rukongai. I would also be more than happy to offer assistance to my fellow Captains in the form of the research I’ve done so f-”

“Futile!” Mayuri interrupted Aizen’s collaborative offer with a sneer and a small wave of his hand. “Although you may believe yourself to wield great intellect in the Gotei 13, the fact of the matter is that I need  _ nothing _ from you but to mind your own business. I’m sure you have your hands full trying not to smudge your glasses.”

Aizen’s condescension flowed through his voice. “Captain Kurotsuchi, that was quite rude of you to interrupt me. I understand that the Research & Development Department has not made much progress in understanding or preventing this outbreak but don’t let your bruised pride put you beneath respecting your fellow officers.”

Mayuri’s smile widened to bare each one of his teeth. “Just like you to believe that the words of a genius carry no weight. Your foolish assumptions expose your ignorance, as the 12th Division  _ has _ discovered what this strange substance is. So, rather than pat each other on the back about how we’re all doing a great job being mediocre, I would ask the Captain-Commander’s grace in allowing me to present our research thus far so that we can put this silly outbreak to rest!”

All captains turned to face Yamamoto and his usual stoic expression. His eyes were opened slightly to express his slight annoyance at the outburst but nodded to Mayuri in approval. “Please proceed, Captain Kurotsuchi. Tell us what your department has done to fight against this sickness.”

“Many thanks, Captain-Commander.” Mayuri reached into his robe and pulled out a clear, smooth crystal cube. Within it was a thick globule of the illness-inducing substance, black with tinges of purple throughout. Aizen raised a brow while Tosen turned his attention fully toward the substance. “ _ This _ is what is killing the Soul Society. Though we can’t exactly place a name on it, I’m already bouncing a few ideas of my own around. In any case, it only seems to affect organic material. At first, we believed that it acted like radiation, causing unwanted mutations depending on the subject. Then, we experimented further, believing that it acted more like a virus, replicating itself within the host and causing all of the apparent symptoms like nerve damage, body aches, vomiting, paranoia and the like. But the greatest discovery was made just  _ six _ days ago when we concluded that it is actually  _ parasitic _ !”

Captain Hitsugaya joined the conversation, his eyes looking over the black mass inside Mayuri’s container. “Wait, you mean to tell me that thing is  _ alive _ ?!”

“Indeed it is, though not the way  _ we _ believe. Left to its own devices, it does nothing and does not even seek out a host. Additionally, unlike many parasites, this substance doesn’t require a host to survive nor feed off of. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. From what we’ve found, subjects who are exposed to this substance end up becoming parasitic themselves.” Mayuri lifts the cube inches away from his face to watch it pulse ever so slightly. “So, in that case, I suppose you can consider it a drug of some sort. Now that I think about it, it’s somewhat hard to pin this substance down as one thing in particular.”

Aizen blinked, his facade one of visible confusion. “Forgive me, Captain Kurotsuchi, but I can’t really grasp what it is you’re trying to say about this substance.”

“Hmph! As expected, I’ll have to explain this in simpler terms. This outbreak started a year ago with the first reported exposure in the South district of the Rukongai. That obviously means that it’s been here longer than that but we’re unsure of the timeline. Six months from that initial report, this substance was then reported to be in ninety percent of the Rukongai with an estimated fifty-thousand infected and nearly the same amount dead.” Mayuri tapped on the crystal box. “This little glob kills whoever it infects with a ninety-nine percent fatality rate. It mirrors the process of gangrene and necrosis, rotting the body from the inside out until all that’s left are unrecognizable remains. In short, if this substance gets a hold of you, barring extraordinary circumstances, you will die. Slowly and painfully.”

Captain Komomura gasps from behind his face shielding. “Do you mean to say that everyone infected in the Rukongai right now---”

“--will most likely die, yes. It’s for this reason that quarantine will do nothing but cause more grief to those who are already infected. It only takes a small amount of this substance to make one fall ill, gradually forcing them to succumb to the side effects. Why, we would be no better than those who cast lepers off to their own secluded island. However, there is hope, even with this grave news.” Mayuri held the crystal cube in the palm of one hand and slapped the top with his other hand, causing it to illuminate with a brilliant light. The substance stopped pulsing and started to shrivel. “Firstly, we have found that extreme, concentrated light sources, particularly through modified kido, are able to paralyze the substance and temporarily cease all functions. An hour under this light and it was as sentient as a rock. But even more remarkable is that when the light source is removed or eliminated, it returns to its normal functions as if nothing occurred. Quite extraordinary! Secondly, we’ve found that the substance is drawn to itself or areas where it has already done damage. One could almost say that death acts as a magnet for it to congregate. We tested this hypothesis by placing cameras around the graveyards and resting places. We discovered that these places were more likely to have the substance but that the effects become much more potent the more there is. We even believe that, with enough of itself produced in a single mass, it can create a necrotic field. We concluded that such a field is practically undetectable besides an intense sense of dread and lethargy. So, I suppose, in that case, it  _ is _ like radiation!”

“This is most disconcerting and, for some reason, familiar.” Yamamoto slowly begins to stroke his long beard, eyes clenched shut. “If this is indeed what you have concluded, Captain Kurotsuchi, then you shall be placed as head of the efforts to contain this epidemic immediately.”

“Of course, Captain-Commander. However, as much as I would love to make everyone scurry about to capture these globs all about the Soul Society, the illness itself should be a secondary issue. The  _ primary _ issue is who or whatever caused it.” Mayuri tapped the top of the crystal box again, turning off the kido light and allowing the substance to slowly writhe about. The glob pressed against the side of the cube that was facing Aizen’s direction. “I believe that we are experiencing the preliminary stages of an incursion on the Soul Society itself.”

The Captains all started muttering, turning to Mayuri and then one another at his suggestion. Aizen, Gin and Tosen, however, kept their posture. Yamamoto tapped the end of his staff against the floor to quiet them and inquired further to Mayuri. “An incursion?! Are you certain?”

Aizen cleared his throat before bowing to Yamamoto. “Please excuse my interruption, Captain-Commander, but wouldn’t an incursion or, as Captain Kurotsuchi is suggesting, an invasion, be more elegantly planned out? From what I’ve seen, and from what Captain Kurotsuchi has explained, this situation seems to be no different than a mutated form of the flu, ebola or malaria. At best, we could peg it as a sentient version of the black plague. However, it is indiscriminate, deadly and has no signs of an intellectual design. With all due respect, it sounds like speculation when what we  _ need _ to do is focus on saving lives and cleaning up the Rukongai.”

“Captain Aizen, I know that you have been one of the most impassioned of the Gotei 13, working in the thick of the investigative work dealing with this crisis. However…” Captain Kuchiki turned his eyes to him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “It is no excuse to take the floor when it has not been yielded to you. The Captain-Commander gave Captain Kurotsuchi the opportunity to speak and explain himself. To interrupt them both when you yourself expressed the rudeness of Captain Kurotsuchi in his own outburst is inherently hypocritical. Please, calm yourself.”

Aizen bowed to Mayuri, Byakuya and Yamamoto. “I apologize for my brazen speech. Please, do continue.”

“Indeed. As I was saying, every virus, parasite and illness has a patient zero, a source. They don’t simply appear out of the blue or randomly mutate from everyday occurrences. It’s just simple science!” Mayuri traced over the crystal cube with his extravagantly long fingernail, tilting his head. “Personally, I believe that this may be the work of Hueco Mundo. It may even be connected to the destruction in Naruki City. Perhaps even an evolutionary event with Hollows, given that the one who attacked Isshin Kurosaki was even more capable than a Vasto Lorde. Rather unfortunate I couldn’t collect a sample to corroborate this.”

“Captain Kurotsuchi, if I may?” Byakuya looked to Mayuri, who shrugged in response to give him the go-ahead to speak. “If what you say is true, then it would serve us well in considering that perhaps King Barragan may somehow be involved. Perhaps we should extend a sense of diplomacy to him first before we think about delving into any rash responses, war included.”

“Kekekeke! Oh Captain Kuchiki, I would  _ never _ suggest such a thing! After all, extermination only serves a purpose after there is nothing else of the subject to study.” The glob of Nether started to pulse more, growing a faint purple aura. A bead of sweat trailed from Aizen’s hairline as his eyes focused on the crystal cube. “While my data on the Quincy has peaked, I’ve only just  _ begun _ studying this strange goo. Really, I’ll need to set some time aside to give it a good name. Numbers and vague terminology just won’t do!”

“Eccentricities aside, I believe that Captain Kurotsuchi has some weight in his opinion of there being something more to this than a simple infestation. Someone or something must have brought it here. I’ve never heard of such a thing impacting the Soul Society, let alone so quickly.” Byakuya turned his attention to Yamamoto. “Since Captain Kurotsuchi is the most knowledgeable on this foreign substance, as well as different ways to isolate and contain its spread, I believe  _ he _ should be in charge of quarantine and clean-up. Meanwhile, captains and their lieutenants can assist when required while having the main duty of nipping any invaders in the bud, so to speak. Of course, that is only if my peers agree with such a sentiment, barring the Captain-Commander’s approval.”

Kenpachi shrugged. “Sure.”

Shunsui yawned briefly before tipping his Sugegasa. “One hell of a Spring Cleaning project. I agree with Byakuya.”

While each Captain started to give their approval of Byakuya’s proposal, the black glob within Mayuri’s cube grew more impatient with its imprisonment. Purple flecks started to appear in Aizen’s eyes as he was spellbound by the substance’s irregular, erratic movements. One bead of sweat had formed into multiple droplets to soak his hairline and line his jaw. His mesmerized state deafened him to the voices of his fellow captains and the inquisitive stares of Gin and Tosen. But one voice cut through the hypnotic trance that befell Aizen.

“Captain Aizen!” Yamamoto’s voice thundered with the slam of his staff. “Your fellow captains wish to hear your opinion on Captain Kuchiki’s proposed plan. It seems as though they all agree.”

Aizen blinked rapidly and adjusted his glasses, quickly wiping the sweat from his brow with a quick exhale. “My apologies, Captain-Commander. I will admit that I was a tad reluctant and misunderstood Captain Kurotsuchi’s plans for this epidemic. However, after listening to Captain Kuchiki’s dissection of what he wishes to accomplish, I too agree that we should move forward with this as soon as possible to mitigate any further spread.”

“Hm. Then it is decided. As of today, Captain Kurotsuchi, along with the Research and Development Department, will head the quarantine efforts of the Soul Society. Additionally, every captain and lieutenant of the Gotei 13 will have the responsibility of assisting the Research and Development Department with their efforts when required, as well as investigating the progenitor of this epidemic until it has been eliminated in its entirety. You are all dismissed.” Although the captains vanished through Shunpo, Unohana returned immediately.

“You felt it too, didn’t you, Yamamoto?” Unohana’s forehead wrinkled as she walked to stand before the Captain-Commander.

“Yes. It wasn’t the exact same feeling but it would be foolish to brush it off as a coincidence.” His hand slipped beneath his kimono to feel the small scar on his chest. “A thousand years and it still feels the same as it did when that  _ thing _ first arrived. As soon as I saw that filth, I felt like I was back in that very moment.”

“When Mayuri unveiled the substance in the cube, I felt it as well.” Unohana closed her eyes.

“Hm. Indeed. But that is not what I was addressing.” Yamamoto straightened up in his seat, eyes staring beyond Unohana. “If Captain Kurotsuchi was correct in his hypothesis, if he was right about there being an ulterior motive to this epidemic, then we have already stood face to face with the conspirators.”

“...one of the captains?” Unohana’s eyes shot open and her hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her Zanpakuto, her body turning as if to answer her own question with blood.

“It would be much simpler if there were only one involved.” Yamamoto gently placed a hand on her arm to stop her, drawing a worried gaze to his own. “But we must be sure. Any brazen act of violence against this foreign force will only exacerbate the situation. I believe that’s exactly what this thing is counting on. In fact, I guarantee it. I still remember those words it spoke, believing us to be brutes. No, Yachiru. If we want to expunge this threat, it will need to be done systematically.”

“You don’t mean….has it already returned?!” Unohana turned back to face him, a tinge of anger in her voice.

“I don’t believe it ever left, to be completely honest with you.” Yamamoto leaned back in his seat, rubbing one side of his wooden staff with his thumb. “It must have been watching and waiting in the shadows, like all cowardly devils do, waiting for the right time to strike. Waiting for the right vessels it could influence in order to wrest control from me. I could never forget that Reiatsu I felt all those years ago.”

“Then we will weed it out and destroy it.” Yachiru tried to move her blade from its sheath but Yamamoto’s hand remained firm in keeping it in place.

“I shattered the creature with my bare hands. You and I both know that we have matured beyond the destruction that brought us to become the leaders we are today.” Yamamoto felt Unohana’s hand ease off of her hilt, returning to her more subdued state of being. “Observe the rest of the Gotei 13 with wisdom, tact and  _ restraint _ . I shall do the same until the time is right to strike down that creature of the shadows yet again. The children will lead us to the father in due time. Until then, assist in the quarantine efforts.” Yamamoto pulled his hand from Unohana.

“And what will you do, Yamamoto?” Unohana’s fingers interlaced beneath the sleeves of her kimono. 

Yamamoto’s eyes flickered with a long-forgotten ember.

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 3 End_ **


	4. Sun-Plucked Youth

_"Whether I like him, whether I hate him, it's just all so troublesome. Love, companionship and friendship... it's nothing but trouble."_

  
  


  * Rukia Kuchiki



  
  


**_Human_** **_World_ **

“Hey, did you need some help with that?” Ichigo Kurosaki’s orange hair bounced ever so slightly as he reached over to try and grab the juice box from Rukia’s hand.

Rukia slowly started to lean away from Ichigo with her eyes focused on the juicebox, paying Ichigo little mind. “No no, it’s fine. I can figure this out.”

They were surrounded by a short rooftop fence and the passive chatter of other Karakura High School students taking their lunch period. Afternoon rays beat down upon honor students and delinquents all the same but Rukia and Ichigo kept their distance from the general crowd. In the midst of Rukia sliding her fingers along the juicebox, Ichigo stared at her. “You know, as much as I’d like to joke about how you can’t open a box of juice, I kinda feel like you do right now.”

Rukia sniffed the top of the juicebox before tapping the shallow silver pocket. “Oh? I’m glad you’re feeling confident, then. You’ve been doing a decent job acclimating to your responsibilities as a Soul Reaper so far. The more you perform your duties, the more natural it will begin to feel.”

Ichigo scoffed and took a swipe at the juicebox only to miss as Rukia leaned back against the fence. “Appreciate the compliment but that’s not what I meant. Fighting a Hollow isn’t the same as protecting the spirits I see or kicking a bully’s ass. It’s not about destroying them. It’s about making sure they can rest. Almost like we have to help the ones that want to hurt us.”

“Well, that _is_ our job, Ichigo. We don’t swing our swords just to look cool or show off. We’re the ushers for souls that are unable to pass on. Violence isn’t a goal. It’s a last resort.” Rukia slowly chewed at the corners of the juice box before smacking her lips, soon shaking it to hear the juice rush about inside. “Hm. Doesn’t taste like apples yet.”

“ _Damn it_ , Rukia, just let me show you how-!!” Ichigo leaned over to grab at Rukia but she kept him at bay with one hand pushed against his face. She listened to his garbled words while his lips were squished against her palm, still studying the juicebox. 

“Hey! Ichigo!” The joyous shout of Keigo Asano brought Ichigo back to his senses. He couldn’t help but laugh as Ichigo wiped his mouth and fumbled through his own lunch: a half-eaten bento box and a can of strawberry soda. “Hahaha! Jeez, Ichigo. Getting a little close with the new girl, aren’t ya?”

Ichigo’s bento box was slammed against Keigo’s face, causing him to drop to the ground with a drawn out groan. He then turned his attention to Yasutora Chad, who had walked up behind the rice and vegetable-strewn Keido. “Oh, hey Chad.”

“Hey, Ichigo. Good to see you guys aren’t sick.” Chad picked Keigo from the ground with ease and set him on his feet, idly dusting off the grains of rice in his hair. He removed his hand when he saw Keigo launch a piece of chicken from his nose. 

“Sick? Don’t tell me the school soup gave everyone diarrhea again.” Ichigo was on the brink of laughing but restrained himself when he saw Keido’s face become serious.

“Tch, nah, nothing like that. Kids have been getting sick as dogs, most of them even having to be hospitalized.” Keigo picked lettuce leaves from his tie before ruffling his hair. “It’s been getting pretty serious lately. I’m banking on them having everyone just stay home or something. No one knows where it came from but they think it might be an outbreak of some sort.”

“An outbreak in the middle of summer?. Nah, it’s gotta be something else.” Ichigo leaned against the chain link fence and grabbed his strawberry soda to sip on. “Either way, Rukia and I are feeling just fi-”

“Got it!” Rukia squeezed the juice box after picking a hole through the small piece of foil on top, only to have it spray in her face. Her sopping wet scowl slowly craned over to Ichigo, who was between laughing and choking on his own beverage. He looked on while Rukia eventually squeezed the juice box once more, this time having it land in her mouth. “....pretty good.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


The fifth period bell rang while Rukia and Ichigo made their way from the roof with hurried strides. Although Rukia was still both enjoying and lamenting her first experience with a juice box, Ichigo was just plain annoyed. “Next time, we’re just gonna pour the juice in a cup. Can’t believe I got it on my _shirt_ ! _Ugh_ , we missed the bell too!”

“Oh calm down, Ichigo. I’m pretty sure a few minutes is nothing to...worry…...about…” Rukia slowed to a stop in front of Ichigo, having her back slam into his chest and force him to pause. 

“What’s the hold up?!” Ichigo turned his attention to the long hallway in front of Rukia and the single student that was standing just ten feet away from them. He was hunched over in front of his locker with a small pile of books around his feet. The sunny afternoon light soon shifted to a sickly shade of orange, leaving a thick shadow to hide the student’s features. “Huh?”

Black liquid dropped steadily from his body to splash against the books. The student’s hands were pressed against the locker to feel along its lukewarm steel, periodically slamming a fist against it without much else. His body started to waver from side to side with a head that shook to couple with each deafening beat of his fist against the locker. From his mouth came a staccato of groans that almost sounded like words, broken and fragmented. Whenever he tried to ‘speak’, more black liquid spilled out to eventually drench his books. The slow groaning soon became frenzied, as did his movements. 

Ichigo pushed Rukia behind him while slowly approaching the student, assuming he was simply frustrated about something. “Hey, man. Are you okay? Need some help opening your locker? I’m sure Miss Ochi won’t freak out about us being too tardy, so no need to-”

The student smashed the locker even harder with fingers digging into his palms. His entire body seemed to tremble from emotion, encouraging him to kick his books away. The closer Ichigo inched toward him, the more frantic he became. He stopped just an arm’s reach from the student only for the banging and groaning to stop. Ichigo cast a quick glance at the locker to see that it was now completely caved in from his strikes, immediately kicking his heart and senses into overdrive. After an uncomfortable period of silence, the student’s face started to turn and face a horrified Ichigo.

From the waist up, his uniform was horribly tattered and soaked with necrotic juices. His chest was a barren cave of gangrenous organs that slithered out through what remained of a brittle ribcage to slop onto the laminated hallway floor. Flesh unraveled from his fingers to reveal their bony sections that cracked and crumbled from the overwhelming decay. The surface of his face was rotted into a muddy smear across its skeletal features, leaving one brown eye, and the sludge of what used to be one, hanging from their respective sockets. Teeth peppered the floor with every utterance and his tongue was undergoing the painful process of shifting from a solid to a liquid, slapping around helplessly against a hanging jaw. “...el...p….eeeee!”

The air became damp and the stench gripped at Ichigo’s gut, burning his sinuses. His eyes immediately began to water from the disgust and horror that refused to leave his field of vision. Before he could step away, the student’s bony fingers wrenched either side of Ichigo’s head in a desperate plea for help. Even though his flesh was fading, Ichigo could still see the emotion in that one dangling eye. “W-what the hell?! Holy shit!”

“Hellllp MEEEEEEAAAAUUGGHHH!” The small expulsion of breath it took to properly speak his request to Ichigo also came with a virulent gush of vomit. It latched onto Ichigo’s face like tar, leaving stringy bits and slimy chunks to idly drift along the sludge. Ichigo quickly tried to wipe his face only to slip and fall in the necrotic ooze, forcing him to quickly crawl away from the lumbering student. However, the black fluid was quickly becoming adhesive, restricting Ichigo’s movements and leaving him trapped beneath the student’s reaching hands. 

“ _Bakudo number one: Sho!_ ” Rukia propelled a burst of kinetic energy to launch the student away from Ichigo, causing him to stumble. He collapsed into a pile of blackened gore and rotted bone while the loud Hado spell alarmed the students to gather outside their classrooms. Rukia quickly lowered her finger and pulled Ichigo out of the slime. The orange haze of light quickly reverted back to a sunny afternoon light, making the detail of the dead student all the more horrific. Three doors down, Miss Ochi stood outside her open classroom door and fainted.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

_“ --spontaneous combustion but local officials are still withholding an actual cause of death. However, forensics and local toxicologists have reason to believe this unfortunate fatality may be connected to the sudden rise of ill students at Karakura Town High School. Because of this, classes at the high school have been indefinitely suspended until the investigation has been concluded. In lighter news, preparations are nearly complete for Don Konnoji’s--”_ The news anchor’s voice retreated into a quiet hush beyond the television, losing to Ichigo’s loud scoff.

“It’s like some bad horror movie.” Ichigo slouched on the couch with his arms extended along either side of the backrest. “Spirits, I’m used to. But zombies? I mean, what’s next? Vampires?”

“Ah _can_ it, Ichigo.” Karin dropped from above and landed on the couch beside him with her arms crossed. The loud, sudden thud briefly spooked him. She leaned back into the backrest and slowly pushed his arm from her side of the couch. “It’s not like you’re burning to stare at calculus on a chalkboard.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t turn out sick like the others, Ichigo!” Yuzu crashed into the side of Ichigo’s ribs with a hug, knocking some of the wind out of him. His arm dropped from her side of the couch to pat her back.”At least now, you’re home safe.”

“Hngk! Ah, yeah, well I’m not totally sure about that. Hell, I can still smell that sickly sweet odor from this afternoon. Kid lost his lunch all over me today.” Ichigo’s eyes shifted from Yuzu and back to the television screen. In-between the winding news program and a commercial break, the screen was blank, giving Ichigo a glimpse of his father’s foot careening into the side of his head.

“No son of mine is turning into a zombie!” Isshin’s medical coat fluttered during his graceful landing to claim the center seat of the couch. He ran a hand through his elevated hairstyle while Ichigo twitched in a heap on the floor next to his family. “Besides, you can’t even beat your _old man_ yet! You can use this down time to help around the clinic and learn how _not_ to be zombie chow.”

Ichigo sat up and jabbed his finger against the air at his dad, barking out his words. “What in the hell is your _problem_ ?! I could have _died_ today, ya know!”

“Pfft. You’re too stubborn to die.” Karin reached up to yank at Isshin’s ear, listening to him yowl and complain. “But Ichigo’s right, dad. If he turns into a zombie, you don’t wanna catch it acting like a doofus, huuuh?”

“Have some faith in your old man, will ya! _Ah ahhhhh! Don’t pinch!_ ” Isshin’s limbs became limp like noodles as they flailed against Karin’s grip. Yuzu, meanwhile, started to chuckle, casually kicking her feet over the edge of the couch.

“I’m gonna go to bed.” Ichigo stood to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck as he shuffled toward the stairs. “Today’s been weirder than usual.”

While the lighthearted ruckus continued downstairs, Ichigo retreated to his room with an anxious mind that was finally starting to quiet. Upon opening his bedroom door, his eyes were immediately cast upon Rukia, who was dressed in her Soul Reaper garb, draped in the moonlight peeking through his blinds. She was fitting a fingerless red glove on her hand, side-eyeing Ichigo. “We have to go back to that school.”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t see any spirits or Hollows while I was there. What’s going on might be a little weird but not everything is supernatural, Rukia. It’s probably just some weird food poisoning.” Ichigo closed the door behind him. 

Rukia snapped her head to look at him more directly. “You can _not_ stand there with a straight face and tell me that what we both saw today was natural. He crumbled the locker like a piece of paper and was _rotting_ right in front of you!”

Ichigo sighed, stepping closer to the bed. “Well, I guess I’m not gonna be doing anything else with my time. Least we can do is rule out anything weird. But if it turns out to be nothing, it’s back in the closet with you and your goofy drawings.”

Rukia’s eyes glimmered from the moonlight with sharply furrowed brows. “ _W-what did you say?!_ ”

Bodies danced violently inside Ichigo’s room with exaggerated shouts for help and angry insults that bordered on cruel. As the smoke cleared, both Rukia and Ichigo were leaping out of the bedroom window, clothed in Shinigami garb. With one hand gripped around the handle of the Zanpakuto that clung to his back, Ichigo raced across streetlights and alleyways with Rukia. Their footfalls were kept below a whisper until their final landing in the school parking lot. A bead of sweat ran down Ichigo’s temple.

“I know you were scared to come here, Ichigo. I have to admit, I’m a bit uncertain myself.” Rukia started to walk toward the side entrance of the school, taking note of the hazard tape blocking off the front entrance and chains barricading all others. “We’ll be lucky if it’s just some Hollows haunting the school. I’ve never felt spiritual energy like that. It was so…. _dense_. Like being underwater.”

“It felt like I was staring death right in the face. When he threw up on me I…” Ichigo’s following footsteps suddenly stopped an arms-length away from the side door. Rukia looked back at him after she had casually sliced the padlock from its chains. “I thought I was gonna die. Like something was starting to pull me away from wherever I was and into a place I didn’t wanna go.”

“Ichigo…” Rukia turned her body to him but Ichigo’s composure was quickly regained. She felt him briskly walking past her to rip the disconnected chains from the door, their metallic clanks against the concrete sounding off in the quiet summer night. 

“I wasn’t _scared_. I’ve felt this way once before.” Ichigo pushed against the crash bar with a loud pop, swinging the steel door open to the putrid odor of death. Rukia hurried to accompany him, ducking under the outstretched arm that kept the door open. Ichigo closed the door behind him and listened to the echoing slam that stretched far beyond the desolate hallways. Aside from miscellaneous windows letting in scattered moonlight, the air was thick and black. With the buzz of fluorescent lighting absent, even their shallow breaths were like screams in the silence. The environment’s chilling stillness was enough to keep them both on edge. “You smell that?”

“Yeah. Just like that student but a lot more _pungent._ ” Rukia subconsciously brought her voice down to a whisper, staying close to Ichigo during their trek down the different hallways. “I can’t pinpoint a spiritual presence. It feels like it’s blanketing the whole school.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s hiding.” Ichigo tightened his grip on the Zanpakuto as his eyes shifted from left to right, lowering his body in a battle-ready stance with each step. “Ever since I walked in, the hairs on the back of my neck haven’t gone down. Heart is starting to race. Body trying to catch up.”

After an hour of tense searching, nearly every hall and classroom had been accounted for. While Ichigo was trying to force his body into a state of relief, the red flags that his body instinctively raised were refusing to stop. In the midst of their skulking, they both froze at the entrance to the skywalk, an average-sized tunnel that connected the larger building they were in to the smaller, recreational building just east of the school. Even with the moon bathing most of its path through walls of glass, Ichigo’s body refused to relax.

“Let’s check here. Then, maybe, we can regroup and think a bit.” Rukia stepped toward the tunnel as Ichigo hesitantly followed. Their steps echoed throughout the pathway until they reached its midway point. A sharp chill ran up Rukia’s spine, forcing her to jerk her head about and look behind her. With widened eyes, she realized that their shadows had stopped following them the moment they entered the skywalk, both she and Ichigo’s dark reflections frozen at its entrance. But she found Ichigo’s concerned stare in front of her even more disturbing.

“You two know you’re not supposed to be here.” Dressed in a red tank top and pinstripe pants, the Karakura High School gym teacher, Kagine, stood before them. Though usually muscular and uptight, his posture gave off a strange slouch, something he always reprimanded students in his class for. His beady brown eyes stared at Ichigo and Rukia, giving no thoughts about blinking in his statuesque stance. “Breaking into school property, especially during an emergency like this? What are you, _delinquents?!_ ”

“C-coach? You can... _see_ us?” The very thought of letting his guard down appeared for but a fleeting moment once he realized that Kagine could see them clearly. The smell soon began to intensify to the point of making him dry heave.

“I see two troublemakers trying to bring shame upon this school! I knew you were trouble, Kurosaki. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.” Kagine started advancing, his bare feet leaving sticky, black imprints in their wake. Each time his face was under the full brunt of the moon’s light, purple flecks could be seen in his eyes. His voice slurred into a gurgling bass, raspy like a demon’s waking words. “Looks like I’ll have to beat some sense into you.”

“Ichigo! Draw your sword!” Rukia’s Zanpakuto had already been drawn, refusing to waver under her steadfast grip.

“But...Rukia, it’s just --” He found his words bundled in his throat, choking on them from Kagine’s constricting tongue. In an instant, it had elongated from his mouth to wrap around ichigo. The oral muscle writhed, bulging and contracting with foul blood. Ichigo tried to pull the tongue off of him while his vision blurred. But the pressure stopped when a horrid scream sounded out, leaving him to scramble for air. As his vision returned, he made note of Kagine’s bloody mouth and the black gunk dripping from Rukia’s blade. 

“Whatever this is, it isn’t Coach Keido anymore!” Rukia noticed the black fluid becoming sentient and drying into a warped membrane along her entire sword. “ _Bakudo #11: Tsuzuri Raiden!_ ”

The black membrane screeched before falling completely from Rukia’s blade to throb wildly on the ground. As Rukia’s eyes were fixed on the pulsing mass, she also noticed Kagine’s jaw fall and shatter into a gory puddle. It devolved into a dark slush much like the student earlier that day. Her eyes hesitantly cast back up to see Kagine’s flesh falling off as he approached. Two much larger arms burst from his human limbs, wrapped in the putrid black fluid, as if a beast was emerging from within its mortal shell. “He...lp….meeeeeeyaaaaaagghhh!!!”

Frozen in its tracks, the transforming Kagine threw off parts of his body to splatter against the glass barriers. His monstrous arms emerged to smash the tile walkway, causing the entire skywalk to tremble. Ichigo quickly snatched up Rukia to carry on his shoulder as he ran back to the entrance. The floor suddenly crumbled beneath them and Ichigo dove into the darkened hallway. He heard the coach’s monstrous screams behind him. “Rukia! Are you okay?”

Rukia managed to lift herself up onto her elbows and looked behind Ichigo’s prone body. Horror stifled her face. “Ichigo! Behind you!”

Ichigo turned to see the monster blot out the moonlight from the damaged hole that once adhered to the skywalk. A bellowing roar is all it took for Rukia and Ichigo to start sprinting through the dim-lit hallways like a labyrinth. The moment they reached a potential exit, they found it to be covered in thick layers of pulsing, black membrane. Though Rukia attempted to force her way through with another attempt at Kido, she saw that the layers reacted violently instead of relenting to her demand. Every dead end they ran to only exacerbated the heavy thudding sounds of the beast behind them, eventually bringing them to the only place in the school that wasn’t off-limits.

“The gym?! Shit, we’re cornered!” Ichigo’s exclamation was coupled with sweat that drenched his uniform. He heard the monster smashing through lockers and approaching quickly, forcing him to put a stop to his running. He pulled his sword off his back with its edge aimed at the large double-door entrance. “Screw it. We’re just gonna have to beat this thing!”

“Ichigo, I know for sure that this thing isn’t a Hollow! We can’t just purify it and my power doesn’t work on its skin!” Rukia, despite her words of caution, stood with Ichigo in having her blade drawn toward the gym entrance.

“Look, all I know is that I got a big fucking sword and no more patience, so it’s either him or us!” Ichigo listened as the footsteps became deafening, muting any chance of conversing with Rukia. But as they approached the door, the footsteps suddenly vanished. Immediately, Ichigo and Rukia started to look around, the dual thudding of their anxious hearts filling the silence. Words inched off Ichigo’s tongue just below a whisper. “Where is it?”

Ebony tendrils ruptured through the floorboards beneath their feet and latched around Rukia’s body. They lifted her into the air and forced her to release her Zanpakuto, its steel helplessly clanking against the ground. With one powerful toss, it released Rukia to slam against the gym’s brick wall. Soon enough, the tendrils multiplied, filling the large gymnasium in a matter of moments. With the moonlight dimmed from the monster’s growing mass, Ichigo danced across the floor to dodge every gelatinous appendage that swung at him. But with his back soon against the wall, his eyes filled with resolve.

“Hyyyyeeeaaaaah!” Ichigo leaped from the floorboards and started to race across the opened bleachers, the monster’s tendrils slamming them back into the wall section by section. Just as the last section was closed by the creature, Ichigo bolted through the air to slash down at the monster’s writhing tendrils, severing most of them before being knocked into the closed bleachers. “Hngkk! Dammit…”

“Goooonnaaaaaaaakiiiillllyoooouuu! Ichigoooooo! Don’t...beloooooong HERE!” The monster violently emerged from the gym floor and easily towered to the ceiling. From the waist up, it resembled a horribly disfigured Kagine with far too much muscle. Its lower half was a jumbled mass of necrotic black sludge and flailing tendrils. As the beast worked its way to a fallen Ichigo, its lower body devoured the ground beneath it, creating a void that it quickly started to fill. Tendrils lashed out at Ichigo to wrap around his limbs, despite his attempt to slice them off. They multiplied too aggressively and ripped his uniform bit by bit until it was able to reach his bare flesh. Needle-like teeth surfaced along the tendrils to immediately sink into the teenager’s skin, spreading the odd membrane pattern on every inch it could touch.

“Nggggyyaaaaaaaaaah! Rukkiaaaaaaa!” Ichigo’s anguished cries languished his throat. The unbearable pain of having his flesh rapidly stripped away, the overwhelming odor of rotting corpses and the sight of an unconscious Rukia were too much for him to bear. But it wasn’t the fear of dying that gripped him. In that moment, with his sword just out of reach, with Rukia undoubtedly next to be devoured, he felt utterly helpless. He felt just as he did when he was a child. In that moment, he could turn to nothing but anger.

A destructive slash of wind ripped through the beast, the building and clear through the ceiling. The monster’s upper half collapsed onto the gym stage, destroying the massive curtain and its stage. When the monster composed itself, it saw that Ichigo’s body was brimming with a familiar energy. Blood flow had ceased pouring mid-drop from Ichigo’s wounds while flesh, that was previously hanging from strands of sinew from Ichigo’s bones, adhered itself back to his body. A purple and black aura flickered around his body as he stared down what used to be his gym coach. “You won’t touch her. Not again.”

As the creature tried to get up, it felt its head fall from its shoulders. When it reached for its head, its arms were also severed, prefaced only by the whipping of the wind. Soon, the rest of its body was sliced to pieces by a mysterious force that seemed to be coming from Ichigo. One of its disembodied eyes, dangling from a gummy socket, started to widen as it realized what was happening with its limited intelligence. “Doooon’t deseeeeerve! NOT WORRRTHYYYY!”

A final slash, imbued with the same energies that flowed around Ichigo, ruptured through the creature. Instead of struggling to fight the teenager, it groaned horrendously, gurgling up its own necrotic fluid as its body rotted into a putrid puddle. In seconds, the gaping maw in the gym was filled with an oily black lake. But as Ichigo approached it, the liquid quickly dissipated into a miasma, flowing through the gash in the ceiling until nothing else remained. Ichigo was frozen in place, staring at the void caused by the creature, sneering as if the encounter wasn’t enough to rend him of his rage. But his disposition snapped back to normal upon hearing Rukia’s voice.

“I..Ichigo?” Rukia weakly called to him as she held her ribs with one hand, managing to stand to her feet with a slight wobble.

“Rukia!” Ichigo raced over with his damaged uniform flapping in the wind. “Are you okay? Where’d you get injured?”

“I’ll be fine. A few days’ rest and I’ll be back to normal.” She looked over Ichigo with some concern, even taking a step back in caution. “How are you unharmed?”

“Huh?” Ichigo blinked rapidly, taking a closer look at his own body while tugging at torn pieces of his uniform. “I’m not sure. I just remember that black thing was trying to eat me and I kinda blacked out for a minute. When I came to, you were calling for me and I was standing over that big hole.”

“So then...how did…?” Rukia turned to look at the damage caused, suddenly hearing police sirens in the distance.

“C’mon. Let’s go. Today’s been weird enough.” Ichigo leaned down to let Rukia climb on his back before leaping through the hole in the ceiling.  
They ran across rooftops through red and blue sirens, catching only the eye of a malevolent shadow standing at the edge of the school. With its red and yellow gaze cast in the night, it spoke with satiety. “Sosuke was right. You are full of surprises, Ichigo Kurosaki.”

  
  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 4 End_ **


	5. Hell in Half-Measures

_ "Live well, age well, and go bald well. And die after me. And... if you can, die smiling. If I can't, I won't be able to face Masaki. Don't hesitate to act. Sadness is a cool thing to shoulder, but you're still too young." _

  
  


  * Isshin Kurosaki



  
  
  


A month separated Kagine’s death and the eventual reopening of Karakura High School but students talked about the horrific incident as if it happened yesterday.

_ “I heard it was a gas line explosion or something! Gym just blew up overnight!” _

  
  


_ “They say the coach was involved in some rank stuff, ya know?” _

  
  


_ “How can you NOT believe the government didn’t have anything ta’ do with it, man?! Place shuts down and blows up on the same day? No ‘official’ explanation? Yeah, right!” _

  
  


_ “Does this mean no gym? Ah crap!” _

  
  


“Shut up about it, will ya?!” Ichigo slammed his books on his desk, turning sharply to the gossiping classmates scattered around the room. They grew quiet but soon resumed muttering at a lower tone, a few even giving him suspicious looks. He grumbled and turned back around to see Orihime sitting next to him. The sight of her welcoming smile broke through his anxious shell with ease. “Oh...hey, Orihime. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know! As good as it can get with stuff happening around here. Are you okay Ichigo?” She leaned in closer, letting him smell the faint perfume she always wore. “I know you’re still a bit shaken up after...well, that student…”

“I’m fine, Orihime. I promise.” Ichigo smiled at her, bringing back her warm expression. Orihime slid her hand over his knuckles with a gentle squeeze. “It’s just...today is…”

“Whatever it is, Ichigo, I’m here if you ever need me.” Orihime leaned in while brushing back a few locks of her hair, revealing the colorful hair pins she always wore. “You know that, right?”

A touch of red graced Ichigo’s cheeks. “Yeah…”

💀 💀 💀

  
  


“What do you mean I shouldn’t be here? After what’s been happening, I need to look out for you, Ichigo.” Rukia traded words with Ichigo just above a whisper, ruffling her blue-accented dress. A few gusts of wind blew up her white, floppy straw hat to reveal her stubborn disposition. “I understand about your mother, Ichigo, but don’t forget your duties.”

“No, you don’t understand, okay? I  _ told _ you I wanted a break from Soul Reaper duties. That doesn’t mean you come here and play  _ chaperone _ , Rukia.” Ichigo’s body was turned sideways at her, his eyes looking through the cemetery forest. Sneakers scuffed the ground as his hands retreated into his pockets, leaving only the bright rays of the sun to warm him. “All I want is a day alone with my mother.”

“Ichigo. Your mother was killed by a Hollow. If you were with her when it happened, it all makes sense. If your spiritual energy was a  _ fraction _ of what it is now ---” Rukia tried to explain but Ichigo was already beginning to walk away from her.

“Just, please, for today, leave me alone, Rukia.” Though Rukia was tempted to follow after Ichigo, the more she approached him, the further her heart sank. She could feel something pressing against her chest, deepening her sense of fear and anxiety. Unable to tell if it was self-inflicted guilt or a byproduct of the fleeting purple flickers coming off Ichigo’s body, Rukia affixed her backpack, tilted her sun hat down and walked in the other direction.

On his way back to the gravesite, Ichigo heard his father shouting about some ridiculous dominoes game, arguing with Karin over whether or not it was appropriate. But even with his family’s voices, Ichigo soon faltered in his steps and dropped to a knee on the dirt path. Sorrow finally burst from his chest in a silent cry, trading howling sobs for long, silent gasps for breath. Tears rushed from his cheeks to soak the lips of his gaping mouth, quickly wetting the patch of dirt under his face. The gasps turned to grunts as he struggled to pull himself together, sniffling and snorting to bring his body back to a place where it could breathe. 

Though he stumbled to his feet, he pulled his wet sleeve from his face and let the sun bake the rest of his tears away. But just moments after continuing his walk, he caught sight of his mother standing at the end of the path. Her long brown hair was flowing effortlessly in the wind with her arm outstretched to Ichigo. He recognized her smile, the clothes she wore on that day, even the voice that now filled him with a sense of comfort and dread. “Come on, Ichigo. We’re all waiting for you.”

“Wh-Mom?!” Ichigo’s pace quickened and Masaki’s smile widened but he stopped at the outer reaches of her arm. He stared inquisitively, slouching his brows with a hint of anger. “I don’t know  _ who _ or  _ what _ you are but you’ve got some nerve pulling this shit, especially on a day like today.”

“I thought you would know your mom when you see her, Ichigo.” Masaki gently pulled Ichigo into her grip for a hug. In that moment, Ichigo flipped through every emotion, paralyzed by his inability to understand. She felt his heart racing and the steady flow of tears that soaked through her pink sweater and sundress. “I know it’s been hard, Ichigo. I know you’ve been blaming yourself but I don’t ever want you to feel that. Come on. He’s waiting for you.”

“Dad?” Ichigo looked up to her with a blurred gaze, trying desperately to wipe away his tears and cement a clear image of his mother to help him process.

Masaki led him from the forest path and back onto the cemetery grounds where the sunny skies soon morphed into a slightly dimmer, cloudy overcast. As soon as they turned the corner, Ichigo was greeted with the sight of Sinister Maharana holding the infamous Grand Fisher by its throat. Cowering beneath the two were Yuzu and Karin, holding onto one another. Ichigo tried to run and join his sisters but Masaki held him back, interlacing his fingers with hers. “Wait, Ichigo. Watch.”

The lure that usually sprang from Grand Fisher’s mammoth head was missing, torn from its socket. Huge teeth clacked together in frustration while Sinister’s muscle became much more apparent in his grip of the large Hollow. His fingers started to sink through its steely fur and burrow into his flesh, forcing a gush of blood from Fisher’s throat to splatter surrounding tombstones. “You’re quite the messy brute. I can’t believe you would hunt after  _ children _ and in a  _ cemetery _ , no less. A dog without a leash.”

“I couldn’t read you! Your mind….too painful!” Grand Fisher’s tough fur started to envelop around Sinister’s body, anchoring to the stone below. With its enemy completely entangled, Fisher laughed and opened its mouth obscenely wide. “If I can’t lure you, I’ll just fucking eat you!”

“Eat?” A quick swipe of his arm severed the powerful strands of hair that had trapped Sinister, surprising Fisher with his strength. Strands of black ichor shot from Sinister’s inky black body to adhere to Fisher’s gaping lips, applying pressure to open its mouth impossibly wide. Fisher’s laughter quickly turned to painful screams upon realizing that the pressure refused to stop, no matter how wide his mouth was already opened. Bones began to crack, sinew split into worthless strands and muscle wrenched itself free of its collective bundles to release a maelstrom of blood. All the while, Sinister’s arms came to cross over his broad chest with a disgusted look. “Dogs like you don’t eat. You are  _ eaten _ .”

The strands stopped only when the roof of the Fisher’s mouth pressed against the bottom of his chin, creating a grotesque shape out of the Hollow. Sinister briefly turned behind him to see Yuzu and Karin still cowering on their mother’s grave before shooting a glance at Ichigo and Masaki. His voice was calm, still. “Ah, of course. I shouldn’t subject their young eyes to this. Excuse me for a moment.”

A black mist started to pour from his body, thickening into a fog that no light could seem to pierce. Rolling along the cemetery ground, it soon gathered around both Sinister and the Grand Fisher proper, enveloping them while it continued to hypnotically swirl about. A deafening, gurgling scream was heard before the fog dissipated into flecks of black vapor. Sinister sucked some residue from his fingers and licked specks of red from his lips before turning to Ichigo and Masaki with a wide smile. “So sorry about that! Don’t fret. Yuzu and Karin are just fine. Isn’t that right?”

Ichigo saw a faint pink mist permeating the grounds as Sinister looked to his sisters. Their expressions shifted from fear to an eerie happiness. Yuzu was the first to hug at his leg. “T-thank you, mister!”

While Sinister ran fingers through her hair, Karin stood up as well, expressing her gratitude a bit less openly. “Yeah. Thanks for uh….all that.”

As Sinister leaned down to try and pick up the two sisters, he heard a faint flick along with an overwhelming pressure that knocked him clear through the cemetery and into the forest. Ichigo turned and looked around to see where the burst of force came from only to see his sisters vanish within a Shinigami cloak. “R-Rukia?!”

Masaki pulled him away from the cemetery at a blinding pace, nearly hurling him through the forest and into a large clearing. Ichigo skid across a light sheet of rain and he heard a pearl of thunder tear through the sky. When he looked up from the soaked grass, the only person he could see was Sinister. He extended a hand to the young Kurosaki, letting his odd fruit and floral scent permeate the air. “I apologize that I ruined your catharsis. That beast really wore down my patience.”

Ichigo smacked his hand away, quickly falling backwards and scrambling to get away from him. “Who the hell are you? What the hell was that back there? Rukia!!”

“Please, stop shouting. I’m not certain what on earth hit me either but, as far as I can tell, it’s just you and me here. I can call your mother over, if you’d like.” Sinister tilted his head, blinking at him with feigned innocence.

“Whoever that was wasn’t my mother.” Ichigo managed to stagger to his feet and wiped the rain from his face. “And you sure as hell aren’t  _ human _ .”

“Oh, you figured that out all by yourself? To be honest, I’m glad. It gets tiring answering the same questions over and over again.” Sinister sighed as his red and yellow eyes flashed. Rain droplets evaporated around his body in an expanding radius that covered the entire clearing. Water vapor lazily wafted through the air with a sizzling heat. His eyes calmed to a steady glow in the darkened forest as they bored into Ichigo’s anxious stare. “You can call me Father. Most everyone will, soon enough.”

Ichigo’s expression suddenly calmed with eyes flicking to the side before looking back at Sinister. As his mouth curved into a smirk, the slosh of footsteps hitting wet grass came from behind him. He felt the sudden pang of Rukia’s palm smash against his back, propelling his soul from his body, Zanpakuto at the ready. Riding the momentum of Rukia’s sudden push, Ichigo unsheathed his massive blade, carving it around the side and along the ground in a rushing upward slash toward the fearful specter. “ _ You’re _ the one who’s gonna be calling me daddy! Hyyyaaughh!”

Kon popped out of Rukia’s backpack, taking deep exaggerated breaths. The limbs of his plush lion body flailed about before hanging just over the lip of the opened bag. “Jeez! Out of the frying pan and into the fire! The heck did I pop into? A sauna?”

“Hngk! Kon! I didn’t say you could come out of there!” Rukia flashed a look of anger at the animated plush toy before bringing her focus back on Ichigo. “Now is not the time!”

“Aaaaahh! Then when  _ is _ the time? Ya can’t just stuff a guy in a bag and forget about him like that! C’moooon, Rukia. It’s so  _ hoooot _ !” After a few good smacks to the head, Kon wistfully descended back into the bag.

Ichigo’s confidence wavered when his blade passed through Sinister’s body like smoke. He turned around to the laughing shadow as his body reformed. “Tricks and illusions, huh? Can’t fight like a man?”

“I would never stoop so low, Ichigo. I just find it odd how I’ve done nothing to harm you, yet you want to kill me like the rest of those barbarians in robes.” Sinister turned to Ichigo, gesturing to the sky. “I kept your clothes dry and your feet warm with my presence alone. I saved your little sisters. Honestly, how many gestures of goodwill must I perform to gain a semblance of your favor?”

“Your presence….that smell...you had something to do with what’s been happening at the school, didn’t you?!” Ichigo re-entered his fighting stance, steadying his blade in front of him. “Black ooze, sickly sweet smell, unexplained powers and that  _ weight _ . That  _ sinking feeling _ is the same as at the school that night. Feels like someone’s stepping in my chest.”

“Very perceptive, Ichigo. But I didn’t harm anyone. They were simply unable to see the truth, refused to see it and fell ill to their own disillusionment.” Sinister waved off his concerns with a small gesture.

“What’d you say?!” Ichigo leaned forward with spiritual energy flowing around him.

“The primordial elements are not to be trifled with. It is through  _ them _ that one’s heart and true desires are revealed. If a heart of light is exposed to the blackest desires, it’s obvious that their fate will not bode well.” Sinister raised a finger to point at Ichigo. “But  _ you _ , you’re different. It’s been a month since you’ve been blessed by the Nether and you’ve clung to life without a single ailment. It only further proves that you’re destined to be blessed, to join the family.”

“ _ Hado #4! Byakurai! _ ” A powerful ray of lightning erupted from Rukia’s fingers, aimed directly at Sinister. It uprooted grass and vaporized droplets of rain in its forceful travel. 

“Tch.  **Light My Fire** .” Sinister extended two fingers out in opposition, releasing a concentrated beam of plasma to impact the bolt of lightning. The resulting explosion knocked Rukia off her feet and, coincidentally, smushed Kon inside the backpack. On top of a headache now plaguing Rukia, she had to listen to the plush lion’s muffled complaints. “How very rude, Rukia. I was talking to Ichigo. If you interrupt again, I’ll rend you to ashes.”

“The hell you will! Hrrraagh!” Ichigo bolted toward Sinister again, swinging his blade out to cut him in half at the waist. But Sinister reached out to snatch the blade from his hand with an even greater force, catching Ichigo off guard. A vicious backhand sent Ichigo flying across the field to smash against a tree at the clearing’s edge. Just as his fingers pushed against the ground to try and stand from the devastating impact, his eyes widened. Then flinched. His mouth opened in a scream of agony as the intense warmth in his right shoulder soon registered as his Zanpakuto pinning him to the wet bark.

“Your kind really knows how to bring me to my wit’s end.” Sinister’s movement seemed to glide along the shadows, skipping steps and appearing far ahead of his slow, steady paces. To Ichigo, it was as if his entire body was glitching in the dark. Ichigo hurried to try and pull his Zanpakuto from his shoulder but Sinister was soon upon him with a foot pressed against the end of the hilt. Ichigo gritted his teeth in pain while Sinister placed his arms behind his back. “If you don’t behave and be still, I’ll sever the whole shank.”

“Bastard!” Rukia started to dash across the field, now dressed in his Shinigami garb with her Zanpakuto out.

“That goes for your friend as well, Kurosaki. Tell her to calm down.” Sinister pushed his foot against the hilt, sinking the large blade deeper against his shoulder. Blood gushed from the wound while Ichigo gestured at Rukia.

“Rukia! S-stop!” Ichigo’s head fell back against the tree, panting and grunting in pain. 

Rukia’s footsteps ceased but she refused to sheathe her Zanpakuto, instead giving Sinister the nastiest stare she could.

“Listen to me carefully, Ichigo. I am not your enemy and I don’t plan to be. This use of force is purely precautionary to ensure you don’t hurt yourself further. I am here to save my children, the children of humanity, from the plague of the gods that fill this place. I am glad to say that not all have lost their reason when exchanging ideas with me. In fact, some have already joined me and rebuked the gods.” Sinister smiled down at Ichigo. “You too can join me. It’s not too late to come home.”

“Ngkhh!...ah….ah...why...in the hell...hnngg!...would I...join you?!” Ichigo pushed his back against the tree with gritted teeth, trying to mitigate the pain. Blood had slowed somewhat from his wound, now dribbling out of the fresh gash instead of gushing forth.

“Because you’re not like these people, Ichigo. Your father, your sisters, even Rukia are all beneath you when it comes to your potential. I believe you’ve already felt it, as have they.” Sinister craned his head about to give Rukia a sly gaze. “Or did you not marvel at some ordinary human being able to see spirits as clear as day and break out of your kido bindings through sheer force alone?”

Rukia’s eyes shot wide. “How did----you were there for that?!”

“Do not think for a moment your steps have not been watched, Rukia Kuchiki.” Sinister’s eyes flickered gleamed before he let out a short laugh. “It is no different than you keeping tabs on Ichigo. But you’ve been keeping your distance, lately. Ever since that night at the school. You’re terrified of him, aren’t you?”

“S-shut the hell up! Don’t listen to him, Rukia!” Ichigo started to flail, regaining the vigor to resist the impalation of his own sword.

“Manners.” Sinister pressed his foot down on the hilt to sink the sword deeper into his arm, forcing a loud crack to echo throughout the area. He turned back to Ichigo, watching blood seep from his mouth. “I’m only confirming what you’ve been curious about, Ichigo. You are a new breed, a being who surpasses the others. I can accelerate your progress if you only accept your calling, your birthright. That sinking feeling in your chest is  _ me _ calling out to you, the draw of All-Mother Achlys wanting to bring you into the family. To bring you home.”

Ichigo’s defiance continued with him spitting a wad of saliva and blood into Sinister’s face, glaring at him. 

Sinister wiped two fingers across his face and dragged his black tongue across the fresh blood. His mouth popped and smacked in satisfaction as a brief look of surprise came across his face. “Amazing! For your blood to taste  _ this _ immaculate in your immaturity...hm. If the Nether has yet to fully take hold of your already prodigal spirit, you could turn out even better than he planned.”

“What?! T-than who...hnggg...planned?!” Ichigo was trying to root himself in his defiant energy but the rapid blood loss made it much harder to move, let alone keep his eyes open.

“Trivial information, for you. What matters now is that what you felt in the gym that night, that sudden influx of overwhelming power, can be commonplace if you allow it to be so. The power to move mountains, influence nations and find your true self, can be gained in but a brief moment.” Sinister removed his foot from the sword, seeing how weakened Ichigo already was. “All you have to do is say yes. With one word, your wounds will be healed and you will finally see the truth.”

“Not interested….in your….New Age...ah….bullshit…” Ichigo spit more blood off to the side, keeping his eyes locked on Sinister.

“Oh, you will be, soon enough. There will come a time where the pain is insurmountable and the risk is far too great to deny your destiny any longer. The lies of the Pantheon and their manipulative ways will push you into a corner you can’t force your way out of.” Sinister’s body began to drift away in the form of a thick black mist, his voice starting to waver. “And when you are sitting in the dark with all light abandoned, you will utter your plea. Just know that I will always be listening.”

When Sinister’s body vanished completely, the heat vanished with him, leaving a light drizzle of what previously was a sudden downpour. Thin beams of sunlight managed to break through cloudy skies to show Rukia’s rush toward Ichigo. While she assessed his wounds and he tried to pull the sword from his shoulder, Kon managed to peer out of the backpack with glassy eyes darting around. “I-Is that guy gone? Man...what a wacko…”

💀 💀 💀

  
  


“Sooo? How did it go?” Gin was leaning against a wall in Aizen’s laboratory, watching Sinister’s body reform in front of the computer terminal.

“About as well as I expected. It seems as though he’s already been infected by the Nether with little to no negative effects.” Sinister walked to stand behind Tosen, who was sitting up in a chair in front of the terminal, watching the monitors with nearly undivided attention. “I take you’ve adjusted well to your new vision, Kaname?”

“Yes. But although there is more information I can perceive, there are also new fears I’ve come to embrace.” Tosen finally broke the hypnotic hold the monitors had on him, turning to face Sinister. “Perhaps Ichigo has those same fears, which is why he so strongly disapproves of joining the Family.”

“Hmph. Fear is not something we register. The power that flows through us renders all fears and phobias as childish imaginings.” Sinister placed his hands on Tosen’s shoulders, gently squeezing against his captain’s jacket.

“You misunderstand me. What I speak of is the core of what I inform my subordinates and is something that I hold close to my heart whenever I even  _ think _ about drawing a blade in battle.” Tosen closed his eyes. “Those who do not fear the sword they wield, have no right to wield a sword at all.”

“You forget, Captain Tosen, that we are not your subordinates.” Aizen emerged from the shadows of the laboratory, walking into the room with blood dripping from his hands. “All power is subjugated to our will, just as the Hogyoku shall be subjugated to  _ my _ will.”

“My my, someone’s been busy.” Gin glanced at Aizen’s wet hands.

“After our wonderful meeting with King Barragan, I assumed he wouldn’t mind a small culling in the Forest of Menos.” Aizen pulled a small towel from his robes to casually wipe his hands. Once finished, he tossed the sopping wet cloth aside with a heavy slosh. “But the Adjuchas were much better partners for my Hakuda.”

“It’s been over twenty years since you were first introduced to my power, Sosuke. Even so, I’m amazed at how well you’re adapted to it.” Sinister slid a hand along Aizen’s cheek, watching the purple flecks in his eyes light up. His thumb came up mid stroke to push his glasses along his nose. “It’s as if the power is your own.”

“I suppose one could see things that way. After all, I look no different than the day we encountered each other.” Aizen smiled and took Sinister’s hand into his own to gently lower it. His attention then turned to Gin and Tosen. “I’m sure these two are naturals in their own right. There’s no telling just what they’ve accomplished with your blessing.”

Tosen lifted his purple visor, showing that it had been upgraded to simulate his once-natural blindness. But Gin was unnervingly still. Watching. Listening. Seething.

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 5 End_ **


	6. Delinquent Road

_ "Showing concern for a warrior's life on the battlefield is an insult to that warrior." _

  
  


  * Renji Abarai



  
  
  


**_One Month Later_ **

A stunning display of Heilig Pfeil arrows glinted through the afternoon sky to eviscerate the tormented flesh of Hollows. Souls lost to damnation screeched and roared with every strike. Some fell to the concrete below while others simply disintegrated mid-flight. Between quick glides and weightless steps during his effortless barrage, one could hear Uryu Ishida boasting his score. “That makes thirteen, Kurosaki.”

“Dammit, Uryu! There’s too many!” Ichigo’s blade decimated swaths of Hollows in every swing as their bodies fell prey to his amateur butchery. Though he tried to purify the wretched souls at first, he soon fell into his brutish ways of eliminating the dark fiends.Unfortunately for Uryu and Ichigo, the Hollows soon outnumbered even their most liberal estimates. They flooded the streets and wreaked havoc on all who dared to cross their paths. 

“A Shinigami complaining about extinguishing Hollows? You’re a disgrace.” Uryu continued to display his unnatural marksmanship, rapidly firing spirit arrows to eviscerate Hollows at close range. He took a brief pause in the momentary ceasefire to look over at Ichigo and push his glasses up. “This is why the last Quincy will be the one to prove our kind’s superior strength over you Shinigami! Our power, our cause, has  _ always _ been greater.”

In the middle of Uryu’s proclamation, a powerful, yet brief, rush of air lapped against the back of his uniform. His neck craned behind him to see a lash of blood from a decapitated Hollow whip about from the mighty swing of Ichigo’s sword. Ichigo landed behind him, facing the Hollows instead of his classmate with some choice words for the latter. “You can be proud all you want when you’re not getting killed. We gotta work together to cut down this horde or things’ll get out of control real quick.”

“I believe….they already have.” Uryu caught sight of a large group of Hollows congregating around a crack in the sky. Sweat trailed down his temples and his eyes widened the moment he saw two large, white hands widen the crack into a spatial gash. A bony, elongated nose prefaced the creature’s long mask, piercing eyes and massive body that was enveloped in an otherworldly cloak. In a league of its own, the Menos exhaled a thick purple mist to introduce itself to the Human World. But something was amiss.

“W-what do you mean strange? That thing doesn’t look spooky enough as it is?” Kon, possessing Ichigo’s human body, hid behind an equally shocked Rukia and tried to control his involuntary tremors.

“I’ve only seen illustrations of Menos but this one...it looks different from the records.” The menacing red eyes it usually had were now a deep shade of purple. There were black stripes along its usually pale white mask and, in the center of its forehead, was the Greek symbol for Theta. The Menos pulled the sky back like a curtain to lock its eyes on Ichigo and lumbered forward. Rukia’s voice struggled to remain steady amidst her fear of the creature that towered over the city. “That...symbol…”

Ichigo locked eyes with the slowly approaching Menos and immediately experienced palpitations. Flashes of his encounter with Sinister and his fight at the school gym came to him out of the blue, altering his spiritual energy. Uryu noticed the air around Ichigo’s body glitch and blur before settling on a wavy, almost gaseous, distortion. He tried to reach out to touch it and felt a new kind of dread. The closer his fingers came to graze the strange translucent aura, the more his nerves writhed in pain and his stomach churned with discomfort. Even his spirit bow fluctuated with an unnatural energy. “This power…”

His focus was broken by the incoming roars of the Hollow throngs and the subsequent boom of cannon fire. Uryu and Ichigo turned to see Ururu holding a cloth-covered cannon on her shoulder. Tessai and Jinta appeared beside her to decimate the immediate area of Hollows before Kisuke Urahara, complete with his signature striped hat and cane, emerged from the smoke. Cooling himself with slow swipes of a paper fan, his eyes peered beyond the shadows of his hat to look at Uryu and Ichigo with a confident smile. There was a brief pause as he examined the look Ichigo had in his eyes and the aura that flowed around him. “Don’t mind us! We’re just here to deal with the small fries. You two should handle the big guy up there! Especially  _ you _ , Ichigo.”

Uryu regained his focus after the decimation of the smaller Hollows and drew his Heilig Bogen to fire off a few shots at the approaching Menos. Unfortunately, the damage was negligible. Ichigo’s mouth shaped into a grin as he ran past Uryu and leaped into the air, his Zanpakuto already swinging through the air. “No use planning against something this big! Just gotta cut it down!”

But the sight of Ichigo being punted by one of the large, white boots of the Menos only instilled further doubt into Uryu. “ _ Kurosaki! _ ”

Rukia tried to run past Urahara but was stopped by his outstretched arm. “Urahara, we need to help him!”

“For the sake of  _ everyone _ here, it’s best that we don’t.” A flash of light came from his fingers to send Rukia to her knees. Her body paralyzed, she could only look on with Urahara. “There’s more to this than Hollows and Shinigami.”

Ichigo’s body skidded across the road to smash against one of the nearby trees, briefly reawakening the pain in his once-impaled shoulder. His nerves came alive and his mind raced further with sparks of rage, ones that Uryu could barely comprehend over his scolding. “Kurosaki, are you okay?! What on earth were you  _ thinking _ ?!”

Uryu watched Ichigo’s body slowly rise with no response to his fiery inquiries. The once gaseous aura of energy around Ichigo ignited into a glowing purple and furiously engorged Uryu’s Heilig Bogen. Uryu fell to one knee as the energy he was passively trying to siphon ripped into his arm. He took only a few steps before he felt a plethora of gashes rip across his shooting arm, nearly ripping away muscle fibers. Instinctually, he started to gain distance between himself and Ichigo, put his bow away and clasped his bloody limb with gritted teeth. 

As Ichigo lifted his sword, the ground around him rose in small particles of concrete and dirt before crumbling into dust. Instead of words, short grunts and incoherent grumbles spilled from his mouth as he walked toward the Menos. The Menos stopped once it recognized Ichigo’s power and opened its mouth to reveal a massive orb of swirling purple energy. 

“A  _ Cero _ ! Urahara, should we--” Tessai stared at Urahara but received the rare stern expression of the candy shop owner in return. His cold grey eyes cut through the shadows of his hat and the light, bouncy waves of blonde hair to offer his answer before Tessai could even think about finishing his question. Tessai nodded and stepped back with Ururu and Jinta to watch Ichigo take to the skies with a powerful leap.

The energy that swirled into the growing Cero had the secondary effect of stripping the life from the surrounding organic life. Birds that were unlucky enough to fly past the ebony giant had feathers and flesh stripped from their crumbling bones. Trees and grass shriveled into shades of black and brown that blew away like ashes in the wind. Even the Hollows found themselves being passively sacrificed for the monstrous orb of energy filling the Menos’ mouth. Rukia felt chills down her spine, Urahara’s face filled with disgust and Kon collapsed to the ground complaining of stomach pains.

A warbling screech prefaced the massive beam of purple energy that was fired directly at Ichigo’s ascending body. The massive blade of his Zanpakuto clashed with the Cero to deflect most of it while pushing against the overwhelming force that it emitted. Rukia and Uryu expected a struggle, if not for him to suffer another debilitating blow by the strange Menos. They  _ didn’t _ expect the inhuman roar that came from Ichigo’s throat or the total deflection of the Cero. They didn’t expect for him to decapitate the Menos with one slash. They didn’t expect a murder.

“I-Ichigo…?” It was all that Rukia could muster as she looked on at Ichigo hacking and slashing the Menos’ twitching body to bits with his blade, soaking his body in its dark blood. In one instant, it reached to pull back the sky in an effort to escape back into Hueco Mundo only to have its hand cleaved out of rage. Ichigo didn’t wield his Zanpakuto like a swordsman, instead butchering the monster like an angry brute. Eventually, his blade clashed against concrete once the Menos’ vanquished body vanished into a black mist. In the uneasy silence and juxtaposition of a beautiful, sunny day, everyone looked to Ichigo’s huffing, bloody figure. 

“You…” Ichigo spoke in a voice that had deepened a few octaves while his head turned to look at Uryu. There was a paleness to Ichigo’s skin that wasn’t there before, an off-shade of gray, ashy and nearly devoid of life. His purple eyes flared and his once fiery aura became more fluid during his stomping trek over to Uryu. “This is all  _ your _ fault! If it wasn’t for your damn bait game, no one would be hurt! You Quincy and your  _ damn pride _ !”

“Hng! Kurosaki, what the hell is  _ wrong _ with you?!” Uryu stood to his feet and drew his Helig Bogen. Though the pain was nearly unbearable, he felt Ichigo’s raging aura strengthening his bow to levels he couldn’t fathom. There also came a chill to his soul, an almost deafening weight that threatened to rip his innards from his stomach and made speaking extremely difficult. He could barely describe the power he was leeching, instead speaking with short bursts and aiming a flaring Heilig Pfiel at Ichigo’s chest. “ _ Stop _ , Kurosaki! Stay...still!”

“The last Quincy gonna take revenge now? Is that it?! Uryu!” Ichigo’s rage gurgled from his throat and made each word reverberate with an unrepentant fury. Uryu could barely hold onto his spirit bow and launched it at Ichigo who, surprisingly, knocked it away with his blade. Uryu could only stand there in horror as Ichigo reached out with his free hand to try and grip his throat. The Shinigami’s eyes were filled with hatred as saliva rushed between clenched teeth and hung from his chin in thick strings. 

But before Ichigo could rip Uryu’s throat open, Urahara’s cane bashed against the back of the Shinigami’s neck. Ichigo’s eyes faded back to normal as they rolled to the back of his head. His body suddenly lost momentum and fell into an unconscious slump on the ground, dropping his Zanpakuto. Uryu quickly stepped away from Ichigo’s body but his eyes remained focused on him. “Dammit. What the hell was he thinking?”

“I could ask the same thing of you, Mr. Ishida.” Urahara planted his cane against the ground and stood next to Ichigo’s body. “Summoning so many Hollow to the world of the living without any backup plans seems pretty reckless for a Quincy. You should count yourself lucky that Ichigo here had a little temper tantrum.”

“Just what is  _ that _ supposed to mean?!” Uryu was still gripping his bloody arm, trying to keep the rush of warm liquid from completely soaking his uniform.

“Well, in short, you didn’t act any better than Ichigo. Consider that bum arm a lesson.” Urahara tipped his striped hat down over his eyes, smiling.

“Who the hell a---” Uryu suddenly felt a powerful presence place a hand on his shoulder from behind.

“That’s enough, young Ishida.” Tessai’s deep voice brought him back to his senses while his firm grip kept his emotions from straying again. “Your game is finished. I believe it’s about time you headed home.”

Uryu took one last look at Ichigo before walking away from the battlefield, muttering apologies to his dead grandfather, Soken, for his weakness. Rukia, meanwhile, redirected her worries to something more troublesome. “Such a massive invasion of Hollows and the Menos’ appearance -- There’s no way that Central 46 won’t hear about this.”

Kon lifted Ichigo off the ground to set him on his shoulders. “Jeez, how can two guys make such a mess. Looks like a parade came through here.”

“This stuff should be cleaned up before anyone has a chance to worry about it.” Urahara used his cane to gesture to his employees. “Tessai, can you patch up that crack in the sky? Then help Jinta clean up the place. Once that’s all set, we should head back to the shop.”

While the separate parties pondered their various fates, a small fly perched itself atop a sunflower. If not for its miniscule size, its presence among the dead creatures and damaged land would have drawn the eye of those more perceptive. As the cleaning commenced, the fly hovered over the yellow petals of the flower and darted out of the park. In the light of the sun, its metallic flesh gleamed.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


It wasn’t but one day later, in the dead of night, that Ichigo was reading over a farewell letter from Rukia. Kon, in his plush lion body, was painfully ripping the last of the duct tape from his mouth before explaining things to Ichigo. “You need to go after her, Ichigo! I would have stopped her but, well, did you  _ see _ how good she duct taped me to the toilet?!”

“How the hell am I supposed to go after her when I can’t change into my Shinigami form? Dammit...” Ichigo crumpled the letter into a paper ball, squeezing it tight. 

Both Kon and Ichigo looked to the bedroom window to see Urahara casually perched on the windowsill. The warm night breeze flowed inside while he looked to Ichigo from the shadows of his hat. “ _ I _ may be able to help in that department.”

“You! Kon, give me and clog hat some privacy.” Ichigo tossed the letter in Kon’s direction.

“Privacy?! I’m just as concerned about Rukia as you are! Shouldn’t  _ I _ have a say in all this? I’ve been stuffed in backpacks reeking of old apple juice, smashed around like a ragdoll and, in case ya haven’t noticed,  _ I was bound and gagged to a toilet! _ I think I deserve a little respect here!” Kon’s plush arms waved and flailed in anger from Ichigo’s flippant request.

“Kon!” Ichigo’s face flashed with the rage of yesterday and his eyes glinted with the strange purple energy before quickly fading. Kon’s little body trembled before he hugged the crumpled letter to his chest and ran out of the room in tears. He subsequently fell down the stairs in his hasty retreat. The loud squeaks of his body impacting hardwood soon faded into the background.

“Aw, you shouldn’t treat the little guy like that. Even toys have feelings, ya know?” Urahara’s smile returned as he leaned further against the window, tilting his hat down over his eyes.

“Are you gonna help me or not?” Ichigo’s voice was free of any jest and barely suppressed the anxious rage that laid beneath.

“I’ll help you under one condition. You have to promise me that you won’t kill anyone tonight. The last thing we need is for you to use this as an excuse to do more than try and rescue Rukia.” Urahara’s smile slowly began to fade.

“I’ve never killed---” Ichigo’s heart raced momentarily as flashes of rain, a little girl and a corpse cut him off, nearly making him tear up. “What makes you think I would do such a thing? Are you talking about yesterday with Uryu? That was different. I couldn’t control it.”

Urahara looked up at him with a stern expression, cutting through his emotional state to speak with gravity. “If you don’t control your impulsiveness, Ichigo, there will be dire consequences. Not just for you but for your entire world. Promise me that you will not kill anyone tonight and control yourself.”

The minute they took in staring one another down felt like an hour-long argument in silence with stony glares, clenched hands and deep gulps. Ichigo straightened his posture with his head slightly tilted to the carpet. “Promise.”

Urahara stepped off the window to walk toward Ichigo and lifted his cane to reveal a Gokon Tekko symbol on the end of his cane. Thrusting it into the center of Ichigo’s forehead, a flash of light enveloped his room.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


Moonlight illuminated the figures of Renji Abarai and Byakuya Kuchiki blocking Rukia’s path. The redheaded Shinigami stepped forward with his Zanpakuto while Byakuya remained where he stood, draped in a white captain’s Haori. Renji kicked Uryu in the stomach, watching him bleed while Rukia tended to the blood that dripped from her cheek. “I can’t believe you, Rukia. Giving a  _ human _ Shinigami powers is more than bad enough but having humans that  _ hate your own kind _ come to try and attack us? Just what did this human world do to you? Do you even know who you  _ are _ anymore?!”

“Please, leave Uryu alone. He just came to my aid. He didn’t know about---” Rukia was choking on her words while Uryu’s bandaged arm tried to lift him off the ground. He was met with another harsh kick from Renji to make him collapse in his own blood. “R-Renji! Please stop!”

“You know, you’re right. Might as well put this guy out of his misery and show him what happens when he crosses a Shinigami!” Renji lifted his blade despite Rukia’s desperate plea. As his Zanpakuto came down to slice into Uryu, it was met instead with Ichigo’s massive sword, knocking Renji backwards to skid across the asphalt of the narrow road. Surprised, he blinked rapidly and stared out to see Ichigo under the pale glow of a streetlight with his Zanpakuto resting over his shoulders. “Heh. I guess you must be the fake Shinigami Rukia’s been pallin’ around with.”

“Name’s Ichigo Kurosaki. I’m the guy that’s gonna kick your ass and take Rukia back. Nice to meet you.” Ichigo dashed across the road, speeding past Rukia and Uryu to swing his sword in an upward slash toward Renji. It was easily parried once Renji regained his composure, leading to an intense clashing of swords that uprooted asphalt and fed their immediate hunger for combat. Ichigo, with the help of Renji’s arrogance, was able to land a superficial cut on his chin and briefly reveled in his success. “Hah! Keep leaving yourself wide open and next time I might just take the head.”

Sensing Renji’s brief hesitation, Byakuya interjected. “Perhaps it would be best if you take to Rukia while I finish this quickly, Lieutenant Abarai.”

“Tch! No way, captain. His spiritual pressure is subpar and there’s no way some  _ human _ is just gonna cheat his way into becoming a Shinigami. He doesn’t even  _ deserve _ to wield a Zanpakuto.” Renji swiped a few drops of blood from his sliced chin, gripping his sword tight.

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” Ichigo let his large sword rest in front of him with a cocky grin stretched across his face. His smile quickly faded when he saw Renji’s sword completely change shape.

“ _ Roar, Zabimaru! _ ” Renji’s Zanpakuto transformed into a segmented snake sword. Each piece moved along a steel band running through the center with pick-like protrusions lining the blade with a much larger ‘fang’ at the sword’s edge. Ichigo only had time to block the initial whip-like strike of his sword but felt the razor picks sink into the flesh of his shoulder, yet again reawakening an old wound. Blood gushed out to splatter against the ground while Renji retracted his sword through his flesh and back to completion at its hilt. With a loud metallic snap, his serpent sword was whole once more, dripping with Ichigo’s blood. Pale streetlight highlighted the torn muscle fibers as blood pooled in the gash.

Ichigo’s eyes widened as he fell to his knees, then to his hands. Renji knocked Ichigo’s sword away from the road to clank against the metallic traffic barrier that lined the outside. Ichigo’s breathing slowed significantly with the rise and fall of his chest coming less and less frequently. Every shallow gasp for air spilled more blood as he struggled to keep himself up. While Renji proceeded to mouth off about Ichigo being a fake Shinigami, Byakuya interrupted him to draw attention to a concerning detail. “Lieutenant Abarai, silence. Have you taken notice of your enemy’s blood?”

“What about it?” Renji finally calmed himself down to look at the puddle of blood forming under Ichigo’s feet. “The color….captain, it can’t be.”

“It’s nearly black, just like last week’s report.” Byakuya looked to Rukia with a sense of urgency. “Rukia, come away from him. Now.”

Rukia tried to step around Ichigo but started to hear him mumble angrily while lifting himself off the ground. Instead, she retreated back to Uryu’s injured body, transmitting her fear to her brother’s eyes. Ichigo’s arm stretched out to his side to grab his Zanpakuto, revealing that ashen, pale skin she had seen just the day before. Ultimately, it was the rapid regeneration of Ichigo’s severe wound that put Byakuya on high alert and forced an inquiry from his lips. “Hollowfication?!”

Renji only saw the purple flash from Ichigo’s eyes before he felt a deep diagonal slash along his chest, slicing his headband clean in half. Ichigo ran through his liberated blood like a child through the rain to coat his furious face with the paint of war. Renji’s feet barely touched the ground during his knock back down the street, forcing him to activate his Shikai on impulse alone. He couldn’t even focus on Byakuya’s orders for him to stand down, instead swinging his segmented blade toward Ichigo the moment one of his sandaled feet touched solid ground. Unlike earlier, the clash of blades was nearly one-sided with Ichigo’s sudden boost in speed, strength and perception to overwhelm the lieutenant. 

“ _ Fake _ Shinigami?! Does my blade feel  _ real enough _ , Renji?!” Eventually, every swing Renji took with his Zanpakuto was so fiercely knocked away that every clash left him wide open. Though, Ichigo didn’t strike him immediately. Instead, he basked in the fear and anxiety that was plastered across the lieutenant’s face. The viscous drool returned to drip in excess down Ichigo’s jowls and hung like primal ornaments from his chin. His eyes, a burning shade of purple, were wide open to capture every moment of helplessness he helped create between himself and Renji. His voice was lowered to an inhuman register and gurgled with a bestial rage. Barely a minute after their first clash, he formed an X shape across Renji’s chest with his second diagonal slash and knocked him to the ground to feel the pooling of his own blood. 

Ichigo turned around to look at Rukia with arched brows and a killer’s smile, pointing at her with his free hand as if she were property instead of a person. “You. You stay  _ right there _ . I’ll be back for you.”

When he turned back around, he saw Byakuya blocking his path. The captain held his sword upright, just inches away from his body. While he stared down Ichigo with a face devoid of emotion, he spoke in a firm, calm voice. “ _ Scatter, Senbonzakura. _ ”

  
  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 6 End_ **


	7. Altered Egos

_ "Regardless of who or what they are, anyone who disturbs Soul Society will be cut down" _

  
  


  * Byakuya Kuchiki



  
  
  
  


Ichigo was dumbfounded as he watched Byakuya’s sword split into what appeared to be cherry blossom petals. Then, he felt the cuts. One grew to a hundred and a hundred grew to a thousand. Despite his perceptive boost from the dark energies that enraptured him, he barely understood the pain being inflicted from the tiny blades. Senbonzakura soon contained him in a gorgeous funnel to eviscerate his flesh and tear the black uniform from his body. With nerves and tendons being surgically severed to restrict his movement, all he could do was scream.

“Did you know that he was infected?” Byakuya’s steps were nearly nonexistent as he appeared beside a frightened Rukia. His eyes remained on Ichigo but Rukia could tell, somehow, he was staring directly at her.

“I...We...there’s no way I could have known it traveled between worlds.” Rukia’s heart raced as memories of that night at the high school suddenly flooded her mind. Her breaths fluttered in-between deep draws of air and her chest rose and fell with an erratic rhythm. The very nature of her responding to her brother terrified her in this moment. Her body danced with twitches and jitters as she missed every step of this anxious waltz. It took every ounce of strength not to crumple to the ground, to submit to the emotions that were slowly overtaking her. “Please...don’t kill him.”

“Do not dishonor yourself further. You know what must be done to all those who are infected by that plague.” Byakuya continued actively listening to Ichigo scream and squinted at the loud clank that came from Ichigo dropping his Zanpakuto. “You have already broken our sacred laws and even put your fellow Shinigami at risk.”

“Please! I can’t  _ stand hearing _ him anymore!” Rukia had been crying for a few minutes, having just broken out of her emotional haze to realize how wet her face was. She grabbed her brother’s garb and looked up at him with a desperate plea. “I’ll return to the Soul Society and face my judgement. I’ll do anything but please don’t kill him! I’ll take responsibility for him, for all of this!  _ Please, brother! _ ”

The petals of Senbonzakura dispersed after a moment’s thought and returned to its original form as sacred steel, jutting from Byakuya’s hilt. He watched Ichigo stagger momentarily before falling to the ground in a puddle of his own dark blood, sinking halfway into the ludicrous amount that was torn from his body. The carnage that Byakuya had wrought allowed only half of the teenager’s body to be visible in the sanguine soup that drifted sluggishly along the pale-lit road. However, with Ichigo’s fall, Renji eventually gathered the strength to stand to his feet, staring at Rukia with a heated glare. “Did you  _ have _ to be flashy, Captain?”

“It is called being  _ efficient _ , Lieutenant Abarai. In his state, it was better to keep one’s distance. I would suggest you step away from that mess unless you wish to enjoy the company of Captain Kurotsuchi for his ‘tests’.” Byakuya guided Rukia along in front of him. At first, her feet stumbled and scraped across the ground in the last showings of subconscious reluctance. Byakuya’s eyes soon fell upon the Senkaimon that Renji summoned the strength to open, the latter’s steps almost as crooked as Rukia’s. “Now, let us be on our way. Your judgement will be decided upon our return.”

“R...uk….ia….Ru...ki….a….” Ichigo’s voice was soon lost in the blood that rose in his lungs and flooded his throat, only managing to mutter fragments of the one person he hoped to save. Rukia, Renji and Byakuya left through the Senkaimon and Ichigo felt the pitter patter of rain soak through the wounds on his back. With sorrow rescuing his body from the throes of anger, his eyes and skin returned to their normal shade. His voice was once again recognizable. But, after a time of being drenched in the rain and most of his blood rushing down the sewer grates beside the road, he felt a respite. He struggled to turn his gaze skyward and saw Urahara holding an umbrella.

“You’ll catch a cold like that.” Urahara’s eyes were completely hidden in the shadow of his hat but he could see Ichigo’s perfectly --- swollen with tears and disappointment. He also saw the horrific event unfold around his eyes with the spreading of necrotic flesh, eating away at his skin. But at this point, Ichigo had not the energy or the ability to scream from such pain. Urahara saw just how terrible it was through his gaze alone. He opened his palm in Ichigo’s direction and uttered something that had just escaped Ichigo’s hearing. The thunderous procession of the rain, the words that slipped from Urahara’s lips, his own gurgling breaths -- these were the sounds suddenly lost along with his consciousness, punctuated by a strong flash of light.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


Ichigo’s sense of feeling recovered first, sensing something soft intermittently prod at his cheek. The surface was smooth and segmented with a hint of something fuzzy tickling him enough to bring about his vision. Blurry though it was, he made out a black figure sitting on his chest that was soon cleared up into a yellow-eyed cat. Eyes half-lidded at the sunlight pouring in, he didn’t even get a chance to pose a question before a deep, masculine voice came from the cat’s mouth. “You were starting to snore. It’s loud enough to vibrate the floor, do you know that?”

“T-Talking cat!” Ichigo’s blood rushed through his body as he sat up on the floor padded with blankets. After a moment of shock, he quickly realized that he was bandaged head to toe with his awakening jolt bringing back the agony he felt the previous night. He winced while the cat, Yoruichi, hopped off his makeshift bed and made its way to another part of Urahara’s shop. At the same time, Urahara popped inside and fanned himself while approaching Ichigo’s wrecked body. “You...ngghh…I’m alive?”

“Well, you’re pretty banged up but you’d have been dead before I got to you if Byakuya actually got serious.” Urahara pulled up a stool to sit a few feet away from Ichigo, resting the end of his cane against the ground. His casual smirk was on full display for the suffering strawberry to soak in. “If  _ I _ were you, I’d take it easy or you’ll open up those wounds. They’ve barely closed.”

Ichigo stubbornly remained sitting up and gritted his teeth at the lingering pain. “Where’s my sword?”

“In another room of the shop. With the shape  _ you’re _ in, you’ll be out of commission for at  _ least _ the next forty-eight hours.” Urahara stopped fanning himself and closed the fan with a loud clack. His smirk deformed into a straight line as he took on a more serious tone. “If you rush, you’ll never be able to go to the Soul Society and save Rukia.”

“What?! You know where she is?! Tell me how to get to her!” Ichigo’s impatience brought another wave of pain through his body as his body jerked about from Urahara’’s revelation, this time forcing him to lie back down.

“I do and I can but, like I said before, you’re in no state to go rescue her right now. Once you recover, I can train you to be strong enough to go get her. Though, I’m not just talking about  _ fighting _ .” Urahara slipped his closed fan into his jacket pocket before resting both hands atop his cane. “I’m sorry to say that you’ve been _ infected _ , Ichigo.”

Ichigo blinked, turning to look at Urahara. “Infected? By what?”

“A dark force called the Nether. From what we’ve gathered, it’s a virus that acts in both the physical  _ and _ spiritual realms. You must have gotten it from one of your classmates at school.” Urahara glanced briefly at Ichigo’s face as he connected the dots in his head. “In short, it draws out a person’s inner sins and makes them incredibly powerful. But, if they’re unable to  _ handle _ the virus, it rots them from the inside out until they’re nothing but dust. The worst part is once you catch it, you’ve got it for good. There’s no cure for it that we can see.”

“Then how come I’m still alive? I felt my skin rotting before I passed out…” Ichigo touched his face frantically, trying to confirm that nothing was out of place. “If what you’re saying is true, then I should be dead.”

“Should be but aren’t. Though there isn’t a cure, I  _ have _ developed an experimental suppressant for it, one that I injected you with while you were sleeping.” Urahara suddenly blinked at Ichigo’s sudden grimace. “What?”

“Experimental? I don’t really appreciate being someone’s guinea pig and being injected with stuff while I’m unconscious!” Ichigo’s eyes closed to slits, squinting at the shopkeeper.

“Hey! You should be mad at my furry friend too, then! They’re the one that covered you in bandages while you were passed out.” Urahara’s jovial expression returned as he pointed to the neatly folded pile of Ichigo’s clothes near the door. “Of course, we had to wash your clothes up a bit.”

Ichgo looked at the pile of clothes, then looked back at Urahara in annoyance. “How in the  _ hell _ can a cat fold clothes, let alone bandage me up?!”

Urahara was initially silent, as if he were in the midst of pondering Ichigo’s logical line of questioning. Then, suddenly, his lips wobbled and his body trembled from an incredible burst of laughter. He howled with joy while tears streamed down his face. Meanwhile, Ichigo’s annoyance grew with every chuckle until he became genuinely angry, creating a sharp pain in his stomach. Urahara wiped his tears, stuttered out his final laughs, and watched Ichigo clench his gut with a heavy groan. “Ahh, that’s  _ right _ . I forgot to mention that, as with all experimental procedures, there’s a side effect. Every time the chemicals in your brain trigger in response to anger, the medicine counterbalances the trigger to keep you from succumbing to the dark energy that you’re infected with. Stomach ache, headache, stuff like that. It’s like your body smacking you and reminding you to keep your cool. Even so, it’s  _ not _ a perfect treatment. So, chill out, Ichigo. For your own sake.”

Ichigo’s head fell back onto his pillow with a thud as he groaned. He pensively gazed at the ceiling. “How the hell am I supposed to stay calm? I almost  _ died _ , Rukia’s been taken and I gotta rest, not knowing what they’re doing to her.”

“They’re going to execute her.” Urahara’s voice was calm but firm. Ichigo’s eyes shot open again but Urahaha put a hand out to calm him. “ _ Relax _ . Like I said earlier, I’m going to train you so that you can go save Rukia. You’re gonna have to give it your all, though. If you give it any less than a hundred percent, you’ll surely die.”

Ichigo’s face filled with trepidation, a bit uneasy that such words weren’t carried by a more carefree tone. In the short silence that followed, there was a mutual understanding that it wasn’t just Rukia’s life on the line in the coming days. In the middle of his contemplation, his hands instinctively came up to catch a bottle of pills tossed from Urahara. They came in a translucent green bottle with a skull and crossbones label. “What’s this?”

“Special sleeping pills. Normally, it’d take a week or so for you to get to full strength. These will shorten that to about forty-eight hours.” Urahara rose from his stool, letting his smile return. “The execution is set to take place in thirty days, so there’s no time to waste.”

“Why the hell is this symbol on here?” Ichigo was ready to fire off another list of questions but was paralyzed when the end of Urahara’s cane hovered over his face. The shop owner was kneeling over his shoulders with an intimidating state, one that looked as though it were staring at some entity beyond his own naive gaze. He felt a strange energy holding him in place, an unusually powerful sort of gravity. But he knew it wasn’t pressure keeping him from sitting up and, for some reason, he felt as though he was staring at the edge of a blade. The questions melted from his mind as his breathing slowed.

“Every passing second puts you further behind the obstacles you’ll have to overcome. The only way to answer the questions you seek is to rest, recover and go find them yourself.” Eventually, Urahara pulled his cane away, stood to his feet and walked out of the room. His last words finally stuck to Ichigo’s stubborn soul. “Take two pills. Get some sleep. Training will begin in two days.”

While Ichigo was literally trying to put his worries to rest, Urahara walked through the shop with a sense of trepidation.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


**One Month Earlier - Soul Society**

Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi was hunched over a monitoring station. His fingers paced skillfully across two layers of command buttons in the shape of piano keys as the stillness of his lab was disturbed by the loud clack of Kisuke Urahara’s clog shoes. Every step he took made Mayuri wince and grimace, his shoulders shirking up in annoyance until they finally ceased. By the time Urahara was leaning over his shoulder, letting the blue haze of the large monitor wash over him, Mayuri’s last nerve was being aggravated. “Do you honestly have to wear those  _ obnoxious _ shoes in my laboratory, Urahara? It’s almost like you  _ want _ to give me a reason to dissect you!”

“Don’t be so cranky, Mayuri. Yamamoto wouldn’t like the best minds in the Soul Society at each other’s throats when we’re supposed to be working together.” Urahara was, for once, without his signature striped hat, looking at the large screen beyond his messy blonde locks. Visuals of the Rukongai were being displayed section by section to show cleared streets and alleyways sparsely littered with trash.

“ _ Limited Emergency Advisor _ ! Do care to remember the Captain-Commander’s exact words if nothing else, Urahara.” His eyes were sharply set upon Urahara during his short rant before slowly turning his attention back to the monitor, pressing different piano keys to go to different sections of the Rukongai. “Hmph! It’s bad enough I can’t be left alone to work. The least you could have done is brought in that infected human for experimentation.”

“Heh, far too early for that. There’s only been one incident so far but I’ll be sure to monitor him closely to see if it repeats itself. Besides, bringing him here for that would...complicate things.” Urahara, rubbed the back of his neck before craning it a bit to have a few pops further break the lab’s silence. 

“You know as well as I do that when an opportunity is presented to you, as a  _ scientist _ , you must take it! It would offer better fortune than worrying about the consequences of a  _ former _ captain.” Mayuri’s annoyed expression gradually turned into a shit-eating grin. “Perhaps that’s something you two bonded over rather quickly. I can see how you were lowered to a simple shopkeeper.”

“Mighty high talk from someone who’d still be crawling around the Maggot’s Nest if not for me. Tsk!” Urahara couldn’t help but laugh, leaning in to take a closer look at the monitor. “I’m guessing nothing’s changed since last week, eh? Everyone’s still on lockdown, corpses piling up?”

“Of course that’s what you would assume, Urahara. Unlike you, I’ve tasked the rest of the SRDI with collecting samples and helping me compile more information. As droll as it is, it’s yielded some unexpected results.” Mayuri jabbed a finger at the monitor while his other hand continuously tapped one of the piano keys to switch the camera view numerous times, pausing with each change. “Look here. Last week, the infection was concentrated in Squad Four’s jurisdiction, over South. Before  _ that _ , it was concentrated in Squad Six’s jurisdiction, Northwest.  _ Now _ it seems to be spreading through Squad 10’s jurisdiction, over East. The most frustrating thing is that, besides those who have already been infected, no trace of the plague remains. We’ve been unable to find a source, an origin point. It keeps moving and not even in-between sections of the Rukongai. It just  _ appears _ in a different section the following day.”

Though Mayuri was focused on the flickering visuals and moonlit areas of the Rukongai, Urahara was busy with his phone. The blonde shopkeeper was sitting in a chair he pulled up, idly pushing his foot against the ground to spin the chair about from side to side. His eyes were half lidded but contained a sense of concentration while different screens reflected from his eyes. The moment Mayuri seethed at the sight of this, Urahara shoved his phone in his face. “You just gotta know where to look.”

“Are you trying to make a fool of me?” Mayuri, though still annoyed at Urahara’s antics, looked closely at what appeared to be another camera view into the Rukongai. One that he hadn’t covered yet. It was surveillance of a rotted male corpse with pale flesh and blackened innards that were tarnished by necrosis. A fraction of its skull had peeled away to show a layer of bone that gleamed in the moonlight. Almost all of the superficial flesh had faded away. Their almond-colored eyes were glossy and one of them had become pale. But there was something off about it.

“This was yesterday, around midnight.” Urahara leaned back in his chair, letting it creak and squeak while holding his phone up. His eyes remained somewhat stoic, waiting for Mayuri’s reaction. “ _ This _ is why I visited you today.”

Mayuri rubbed his chin with an inquisitive stare. “Well then, I must thank you, Urahara. I’ll have to beat Hiyosu and Akon  _ quite unmercifully _ for letting such a specimen rot in the open for so long.”

“Keep looking, Mayuri. Notice something off?” Urahara’s tone was a bit more serious. Mayuri, of all people, quickly knew that such a demeanor from Urahara was not something to dismiss and he focused closely on the surveillance video. His eyes opened wide, frozen in their sockets to glaze them with electronic light. There was a small furrow in his brow when he noticed that one of the corpse’s fingers was slowly, gently, scraping along the ground. After a few minutes had passed since he noticed, all the fingers of one hand were performing the repetitive movement. In five minutes, the necrosis started to reverse completely.

“Post-mortem regeneration?! How on Earth could this have happened?! How could I have missed this?! I’ve scrutinized every body that’s come into the lab. Some are still rotting from  _ days ago _ !” Mayuri was so wound up, he barely noticed that the regenerated corpse began to stand up off the ground, staggering to its feet.

“Before you ask, me and Tessai destroyed him. Very tricky but we had some experience considering this was the  _ second _ case we’ve seen. Take a good look at the face, though. Look familiar?” Urahara swiped his fingers toward either side of the phone screen to expand it, showing a relatively gruff man. He was clean shaved with a distinctive, black birthmark beneath his eye. 

“Hmm! Kazuya Hagenaki, if I’m not mistaken. A violent brute from District Eighty with quite the track record. Not worth vivisecting.” Mayuri squinted at Urahara and scratched his chin. “I’m guessing your other discovery was a criminal waste of flesh? Something to do with behavior or neurological patterns influencing the plague?”

“Really showing your promise. Knew I hired you for a reason.” Urahara cracked a slight smile. “Both of the reanimated corpses were extremely violent individuals who disregarded morality. Not gonna take any big leaps but, from what I’ve observed, this plague, Nether as I like to call it, might give some really bad people more chances at life. Most likely with a vengeance..”

“Not to mention the damage this would do to the cycle of souls.” Mayuri turned to look back at the large monitor while rubbing his chin. “If what you’re saying is true, then any criminals in the Rukongai who become infected can become carriers instead of corpses. This would also create an exponential imbalance of souls, especially if corrections are to be made manually to keep the cycle stable.”

“Exactly. This is why Ichigo will be a good test subject for what I’ve been cooking up. A seasoned criminal is hard to control but teen angst is pretty easy to pin down, as long as it’s done early.” Urahara pulled a vial of clear liquid from his pocket. The top was capped with a silver, metal coating and gleamed with an unusual energy. He tossed it to Mayuri before pulling out a second, identical vial. “An experimental vaccine. I call it Junto. I’ve been working on it ever since the second wave of infections spread throughout the Rukongai. Despite the name, it doesn’t really purify or eliminate the Nether. More like a seal. I messed around with different kido spells and synthesized a modified version to include in the vaccine.”

Mayuri held his vial of the vaccine, swinging it about a bit between his fingers. “A spiritual  _ firewall _ , so to speak? Glad you’ve taken my research to heart concerning the ah, ‘Nether’, containment.”

“In a way. It draws from the person’s good memories and emotions to reinforce the spiritual barrier. So, in a way, Ichigo is the only person who can test the vaccine because---” Urahara looked up as he was cut off.

“He’s the cure. Hmph. You’re planning on risking the cure for this entire pandemic on a  _ single human _ ?!” Mayuri’s toothy grin soon appeared, stretching from ear to ear. “You  _ do _ know that if the vaccine fails and Ichigo’s latent power is  _ accelerated _ by the Nether instead, not only will he cause untold casualties but you may even be sentenced to Muken?! Perhaps even execution for such a reckless and ambitious act of science!”

Urahara looked into Mayuri’s eyes with a sobering stare. “I do.”

“Tch! Then  _ I suppose _ I’ll just have to hold your hand through this entire thing. Since we’re attached, even in the slightest, I’ll have to ensure that this doesn’t fail.” Mayuri looked at the fluid in Urahara’s vaccine vial before sliding it in his coat pocket, waving off the shopkeeper. “Now begone with you! If I’m going to ensure that the true genius of the Soul Society is realized, I must have space to think! Far away from your  _ noise _ .”

“Try not to smear your makeup.” Urahara rose from his seat but his clog shoes didn’t make any noise on his way out, instead stepping on thin layers of spiritual energy. 

Mayuri returned to monitoring the Rukongai momentarily, bringing his attention back to the vial Urahara had given him. A cackle crawled from his gullet and soon filled the quiet laboratory. Just as quickly as his laughter began, it was sharply cut short as his head snapped around to look at the silent, stiff silhouette standing in the shadows. “Nemu! Prepare the preliminary tests! Let’s just see what we’re working with.”

  
  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 7 End_ **


	8. Beneath the Skin

_ "You really think you're gonna win a fight like this without taking any lives? Finish them off properly! That's how you show respect to the enemy who started this battle." _

  
  


  * Ikkaku Madarame



  
  
  


**One Month Later - Soul Society**

  
  


_ It’s so loud. The Shinigami and people who...used to be them? The people, tearing each other apart. Looks like it’s in slow motion. Blood and...ink? Black stuff. It’s sunny. Doesn’t feel like it. The stench is strong. I feel heavier than my sword. Not just a fight. War. Red on the ground….my sandals are soaked. That smell is so strong. Why can’t I move? Focus...FOCUS… _

“Get the hell out of the way!” The swift edge of Hozukimaru was inches away from Ichigo’s throat. Pure instinct forced the teenager to sway backwards while his heart suddenly pummeled his chest, knocking him out of his contemplative daze. Ichigo finally regained a firm grip on his sword and the reality before him, staring at the shouting, bald man known as 3rd Seat Ikkaku Madarame. “Damn Ryoka! Just  _ had _ to add your piss to the pot, huh? I’m guessin’ you don’t go down easy like these zombie bastards, eh? Well?! Wait a minute...you’re that orange-haired human, the fake Shinigami infected with the Nether!”

“Yeah, so what if I am?!” Ichigo’s hazy disposition was completely broken now, replaced by his usual youthful resolve as he glared at Ikkaku.

“ _ You’re _ the one responsible for Rukia Kuchiki’s upcoming execution, not to mention the shit show happening here in the Soul Society!” The black vomit of a Rukongai civilian flew just a few feet from Ikkaku’s head to splatter in the face of a fellow Shinigami, allowing the infected woman to charge while he was blinded. Ikkaku smashed the end of his scabbard against the infected woman’s head, forcing her to stumble with a cracked skull. With two quick snaps of his wrist and a shriek of rage, Ikkaku’s blade decapitated both the woman and the freshly-infected Shinigami. His feet rushed away from them both to settle in the small puddle of red blood made up of his comrades and subordinates. His eyes weren’t filled with the usual lust for battle. They wanted revenge.

“I’m here to save Rukia. I didn’t cause this!” Ichigo’s hands tightened around the hilt of Zangetsu while he watched the morning sun gleam off its blade and Ikkaku’s head.

“Bullshit! Everything was under control until you and your  _ friends _ decided to invade. Fuckers just went wild and started attacking! I bet this was all  _ planned _ !” Ikkaku darted toward Ichigo and slammed his blade against him, hurling him back with the force of the clash. While Ichigo’s large sword was parried off to the side, his balance compromised, his face suffered from the rapid bludgeoning of Ikkaku’s scabbard. Ikkaku forced a heel into Ichigo’s chest to end his flurry of attacks and paused just to watch a thin stream of blood pour from the corner of his lips. 

“I  _ told _ you I’m  _ not responsible _ for this!” Ichigo wiped the blood from his chin and steadied his blade again, veins rising along his temples. He clenched his teeth from the pain that bubbled in his gut as his anger rose.

“I used to beat the shit out of liars just for  _ fun _ in District 80. Time to die!” Ikkaku’s roar pierced the area as he rushed toward Ichigo again, clashing his katana against the giant khyber knife. But even though he expected a one-sided battle against Ichigo, the longer the conflict raged on with death growing around them, the more powerful Ichigo started to become. Blows that would have knocked him back were soon stonewalled with Ikkaku stumbling from each encounter. Just as Ikkaku started to lean into the monotony of the shifting tide, Zangetsu was swung in an arc to sever his waist. Quick steps and an agile body allowed Ikkaku to avoid such a fate as he landed just outside of Ichigo’s range. “....who trained you?”

A faint purple aura flickered around Ichigo’s body with his knees slightly bent, holding Zangetsu out to point at Ikkaku. “Kisuke. Kisuke Urahara.”

Shock immediately spread across Ikkaku’s face and his fighting spirit wavered, if for just a moment. His cockiness faded away and a look of urgency took its place. “ _ Grow, Hozukimaru! _ ”

Ichigo steadied himself as Ikkaku slammed his hilt into its sheath, holding both horizontally while a small whirlwind enveloped them. The bald Shinigami swung his weapon out of the blinding gusts, not as a katana but a deadly yari spear with a curved blade. The pressure was back on with Ikkaku mixing up his slashes and swipes with quick thrusts, leaning heavily on his extended reach to keep Ichigo at bay. Metal clashed with a raging swiftness but Ichigo battled back with hard parries and unconsciously laced his pushback blows with his spiritual energy. Neither one could gain ground on the other, drawing an invisible line in the dirt they couldn’t seem to cross. But the harsh sound of steel and hearty grunts were interrupted by another phrase from Ikkaku.

“ _ Split Apart, Hozukimaru! _ ” Ikkaku’s spear split into three segments in the middle of his latest thrust, jerking his arm back to have the blade curve about and thrust into Ichigo’s back. Instinctively, Ichigo’s body jerked and he reached over his shoulder to try and pull the blade out. But Ikkaku yanked at it again, pulling the spear’s blade deeper between his shoulder blades and closer to his vital organs. His fresh wound trailed down his backside to soak his sandals once more in blood while his muscles started to tense and freeze from the pain. “Lay down your sword, Ryoka.”

Almost as if acting on command, Ichigo’s fingers unfurled from Zangetsu’s hilt the moment his knees hit the ground. One arm fell limply at his side while the other happened to come to a rest on one of the snaking segments of Hozukimaru. The purple aura that once slithered along Ichigo’s body flared up into a short burst of Reiatsu as his hand tightly gripped a segment of Hozukimaru. In one swift motion, he stood to his feet and yanked the Zanpakuto from his body, hurling Ikkaku backward with an impressive display of strength. “ _ Get the hell away from me! _ ”

Ikkaku skid across the ground before balancing himself and shifted his Zanpakuto back to its spear form. By the time he brought his eyes to fully focus on Ichigo, the full might of Zangetsu was already swinging toward his shoulder. He saw the flecks of purple in Ichigo’s enraged eyes and the infected citizens fleeing from him, as if his command wasn’t just for Ikkaku to follow. Ikkaku’s mind froze but his body moved for him. His instincts kicked into overdrive to raise up Hozukimaru in an attempt to block his strike. What he felt next was the familiar heat of his body being ripped open by the blade of an adversary, grunting from the pain of steel clashing against bone.

Before Ichigo could sever his limb, he stopped, interrupted by the sheer force that rippled from the initial strike to bring a sense of distance. This time, Ikkaku fell prey to gravity’s pull and collapsed on the blood-stained road while Ichigo vomited a mouthful of blood that was only three shades from black. He nearly joined Ikkaku in his collapse but held himself up with the support of his blade, deciding to go back to kneeling instead. A full minute’s respite allowed Ichigo to stand to his feet and stagger his way to standing over Ikkaku. Though his dark Reiatsu had faded, he let his sword hover over Ikkaku’s throat.

“Heh...hahahahaha! Kisuke must’ve taught you well. What’s your  _ name _ , Ryoka?” Ikkaku turned his head to spit blood.

“Ichigo Kurosaki. And  _ yours _ ?” His blade retracted slightly from Ikkaku’s throat but his eyes remained suspicious.

“Ichigo, huh? Beaten by a fruit. Hehehe…” Ikkaku grunted as he pulled his Zanpakuto back into his grip by its red tassel. He pulled off the end cap and scooped out some beige styptic. Once he actually looked over to the wound, he came to realize the depth of his cut and scooped out an entire handful of his ointment. A series of laughing grunts and wheezes followed him packing the styptic into his gash, realizing he could barely move his injured arm off the ground. “Third Seat of Squad Eleven, Ikkaku Madarame. You’re an intruder and an infected bastard. But you’re  _ strong _ and it’s been a while since my nerves have been on fire like this. It’s kinda nice.”

“Where’s Rukia?” Ichigo’s brows arched with impatience.

“In a hurry to die for a prisoner, eh? Tch.” Ikkaku finished packing most of the wound with a tight squeeze along the top of his severed shoulder, sharply sucking in air and saliva through clenched teeth. “Go straight South from here until you run into the Gotei Thirteen Offices. Go West and you’ll see a big white tower. She’ll probably be in there. Now beat it before the others find you.”

Ichigo pulled his sword from Ikkaku’s throat and walked past his bleeding body. Ikkaku peered up behind him to notice the wound he inflicted on the teen, somewhat surprised that the bleeding had completely stopped. His surprise only grew when he realized that Ichigo, too, had completely stopped. He watched him look in different directions before he walked back toward Ikkaku, past him and then looked up at the buildings they were sandwiched between. Ichigo’s musings were soon vocalized with a bit of head scratching. “Hmmmm…”

“What the hell are you standing around for?” Ikkaku swallowed the second, smaller bout of blood that spilled in his mouth, snorting.

“Well, to be honest with you…” Ichigo blinked and turned around, staring at Ikkaku with a serious expression. “I don’t know which way South is.”

**“Whaaaaaaat?! Are you completely retarded?!”** Ikkaku’s flailing and utter disbelief in an opponent he had gained a modicum of respect for caused his freshly sealed wound to gush blood, making him flail on the ground even more. 

“Hey! It’s not  _ my _ damn fault! I got cut off from everyone and it’s my first time here! How the hell am  _ I  _ supposed to know which way is what?!” Ichigo shook his fist, stomping back up to Ikkaku. “Would you calm down?! You’re bleeding all over the place!”

“Kiss my ass!” Ikkaku clasped a hand over the spurting leak in his patched up wound, coughing before jabbing a finger in the direction behind his head. “ _ That way! _ Move your dumb ass  _ that way! _ ”

“Thank you!” Ichigo walked off with some angst in his step, already getting a minor headache.

“Hey!” Ikkaku shouted, prompting Ichigo to stop. But there wasn’t a returning shout. Ikkaku’s voice wasn’t one of anger or annoyance but of urgency, a loud breath that seemed to precede caution. “If you’re as strong as I think you are, you should watch out for the captain of my squad. He’s got a thing about going after strong fighters.”

Ichigo sheathed his Zanpakuto on his back. “How will I spot him?”

“He’ll spot you.” Ikkaku closed his eyes, grinning. “And when you meet him, you’ll see if you’re truly strong enough to save your friend.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


During his run through the corridors of houses and buildings, Ichigo’s minor headache started to grow into something much more noticeable. His speedy footfalls soon slowed to a hearty jog with veins throbbing along his temples. While his vision momentarily blurred from the mysterious migraine, he managed to bump into Ganju Shiba. But before he could even ask why he abandoned him to Ikkaku, he was picked up and placed on one of his shoulders. On the other shoulder was a scrawny Shinigami who was weakly flailing his arms. “Ganju, what the hell?!”

“No time! No time! I’ll explain later!” A large explosion and loud shouts were in their wake as Ganju raced through the corridors to escape a group of Shinigami. Eventually, he ducked into the warehouse with Ichigo and the smaller Shinigami, putting a finger to his lips for them to stay quiet. The sound of racing feet and cursing was heard just outside of the darkened warehouse but it soon died down to relative silence. Ganju’s voice, as well as the others around him, tried to stay at a whisper. “Kurosaki, next time, watch where you’re going.”

“Me?!  _ You’re _ the one that damn near ran right into me!” Ichigo was whispering loudly with flustered hand gestures.

“I’m a big freakin’ guy! How the hell can you miss me? What, you need a  _ neon sign _ or something?! It’s broad daylight!” Ganju’s whispering raised in response as he barked Ichigo. 

“Oh, I’m sorry that I got  _ stabbed in the back _ by the crazy bald guy just a few minutes ago! No thanks to  _ you _ running away!” Ichigo’s headache was steadily growing worse, pausing to rub his temples. Though he was able to raise a hand to point at the scrawny Shinigami who was watching them both in a meek, seated position. “And who in the hell is that?! You’re kidnapping other Shinigami now?!”

“And what the hell was I supposed to do?! The kid just dropped out from this gang of guys that was chasing after me! Maybe if you  _ ran with me _ , I wouldn’t have had to make a last minute decision!” Ganju crossed his burly arms, looking away almost insulted. “And besides, if anything, you should be thanking me for not leaving you to get your ass beat by Shinigami in the first place! Well, I’m waiting!”

“Umm...excuse me…” The scrawny Shinigami spoke up but was immediately interrupted.

“Are you  _ serious _ right now?! The more time I spend with you, the more I think I’m gonna get killed before I even  _ reach _ Rukia!” Ichigo started shaking Ganju by his green vest. “And you still haven’t answered my question!”

“The hell are you doing?! I’m not gonna let some punk-ass Shinigami try and grab hold of me like I’m a damn child!” Ganju started to tug at Ichigo’s short hair, rocking his head back and forth. 

“Uh...guys?” The weak voice piped up again.

“This ‘punk-ass Shinigami’ is gonna put you down just like that baldy! Let go of my head, dammit!” Ichigo and Ganju stopped once they heard the smaller male loudly clear his throat, deciding to stop whispering. They both looked over to him, frozen in their grips.

“My name is Hanataro Yamada. I’m Seventh Seat of Squad Four and leader of the Fourteenth Advanced Relief Team. I ahh…” Hanato’s fingers prodded and intermingled idly among themselves as he peered at them both. “I want to help.”

“Why? I thought you guys were looking to kill us.” Ichigo’s attention focused solely on Hanataro.

“I’ve talked to Rukia since she’s gotten back from the Human World. She’s been locked up ever since then in preparation for her execution. I’ll have to admit, at first, I thought she was just a traitor like everyone else but…” Hanato looked to Ichigo. “Then she started telling me about you and how selfless you were. How you risked your life for your friends, your family and even for her. Someone like that, I just can’t find a reason to go against.”

“How the heck is a little shrimp like  _ you _ gonna help  _ us _ ?” Ganju pushed Ichigo away from him and dusted off his vest.

“I know how to get us to Rukia’s prison without running into more Shinigami, a path to take us there directly.” Hanataro stood up and briefly peered outside. “We’ll have to hurry, though.”

Ichigo stood up, cautiously approaching Hanataro with a half-hearted scowl. “And why should we trust you? One of you guys tried to kill me just minutes ago and a bunch tried to take out-”

Ichigo felt Hanataro’s hand pressed against his chest with a familiar surge of energy dancing across his skin and seeping into his body. The pain that radiated from his back was becoming less and less noticeable but the surprised expression on his face was on full display. “I...noticed the wound in your back while you were arguing with your friend. We should probably get going.”

Ichigo flexed his back to feel the wound’s size and impact nearly halved, looking Hanataro in the eye. “Yeah. We should.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


Muddy orange light soaked Hanataro, Ichigo and Ganju as they walked through the sewer tunnels. They traveled along one of the two concrete pathways that sat on either side of the opaque storm drain. Long stretches of silence sat between the sloshing and dripping of filthy water, making each interruption all the more unsettling. It didn’t help that Ichigo’s headache was becoming painfully obvious, and nearly obstructive, to Hanataro and Ganju. “Are you sure...this leads to Rukia?”

“Positive, Ichigo. There’s an exit near the end of this tunnel that leads right outside the prison tower. It’s the best way to avoid the Shinigami.” Hanataro stumbled with a loud yelp when he saw a large rat dart in front of his face to skitter down the drainway. “O-of course, I could do without any hungry rats too!”

“Tch! Typical Shinigami, always  _ complaining _ . Can’t handle the smell? Scared of a few furry critters?” Ganju’s laughter resounded through the tunnel as he kept a steady pace. “If we do a bit more walking and a bit less bellyaching, we can rescue Rukia before next week.”

Ichigo had the urge to tell Ganju off but his worsening migraine overshadowed his usual spunk, leaving him to focus his inquiries on Hanataro. “ _ Ngh _ ….is there anything else besides shit in these sewers? Head feels like it’s gonna split any  _ minute _ now.”

“Hm. It might be a side effect of the recent cleanup. Before things recently became chaotic on the surface, we used to find infected down here. We were tasked with helping bring the specimen back to our research department so we could find out how to stop the plague.” Hanataro soon regained a confident stride but his face wrinkled and turned from left to right, anxious about his own revelation. “It’s...it’s possible that there  _ may _ be some lingering residue. We didn’t finish  _ everything _ in our shift.”

“The sewers, the Rukongai --- damn, how far has this thing spread?” Ganju piped up again to have only his voice echo out in the sewer.

“Well, at first, it was only detected in a few areas of the Rukongai. But, by now, it’s probably reached even the furthest corners of the Soul Society.” Even with the nimble pitter patter of more rats traveling along the sewer drain, Hanataro’s tone remained stoic in his contemplation. “We tried to keep the numbers under control but once you and your friends came into the Soul Society, it’s like they all went berserk. They became monsters. That’s why there are so many Shinigami out and ready for battle. Anyone who’s infected is to be killed immediately.”

Ichigo and Ganju stopped once they heard this, having Hanataro stop an arms-length away from them. He turned around to meet their gazes, filled with suspicion and anger. After another stretch of silence, Ichigo spoke up, repeating his earlier inquiry with a bit more timbre in his voice. “You  _ sure _ this path leads to Rukia, Hanataro?”

“Ichigo, I promise I’m not going to--” Hanataro was interrupted by Ganju lifting him off his feet and letting him hang by his cloak, shaking him insistently. 

“You better  _ not _ , you little punk!” Ganju tossed Hanataro through the air to land near the edge of the concrete path, nearly having him fall into the muddy sewer water. “Less talk, more walk. The sooner we get there, the better. Now get movin’!”

Hanataro eventually got back to his feet and dusted himself off. With Ichigo and Ganju’s eyes burning into his back, Hanataro continued his trek through the sewers. Though there were a few worried mumbles coming from him, Hanataro kept Ganju’s suggestion of staying quiet and leading them to their destination. Minutes passed and soon everything from the skittering of a few rats to the sloshing of filthy water faded far into the background. Though, it was the dense, almost overwhelming odor as they neared one of the sewer’s exits that snapped all three of them from their collective worries. It was the smell of death.

Ichigo’s migraine worsened and Hanataro nearly screamed as he saw a male corpse leaning against the wall, blocking their path. More than half of its flesh had crumbled and sloughed from its body from the advanced necrosis. The head was tilted back to gaze skyward with milky white eyes and a wide open jaw. Black liquid had dried on its bones to form a gooey crust that ranged in thickness, leaving the entire skeleton stained in the disease. Hanataro jumped back when he saw a mouse crawling out of the jaw, fiddling with its paws.

“Well then? Move it out the way, Hanataro. Can’t stand there gawking at it all day.” Ganju was persistent that the frightened Shinigami move forward to push the corpse aside, still pondering his line about killing all the infected.

Hanataro started to inch his way toward the corpse, keeping his eyes more so on the idle mouse than the dead body. He pulled out a pair of surgical gloves from his uniform to put on and slowly reached for the corpse’s shoulder. But just moments before his trembling hand could touch him, Hanataro was yanked back by Ichigo while his pained face focused on the corpse. His voice was more level now, a preface to danger. “That thing isn’t...dead.”

As if on cue, the corpse’s jaw snapped shut. One half of the bisected mouse tumbled to the ground along with a handful of rotten teeth, eventually falling into the filthy sewer water. Some of the lingering bands of muscle popped and snapped as the cadaver twisted its neck and turned to face the three. Milky white eyes rolled from its skull to have one fall from its socket and the other reveal a muddy brown pupil with flecks of purple. After a strong gulp of mouse flesh, it spoke in a raggedy voice directed to Ichigo. “Brrrrotherrrr….sooooo glaaaad…..yooouu’rrree….heeeerree….”

Hanato, in a state of shock from the body’s sudden resurrection, fumbled to try and grab his sword only to fall backwards between Ichigo and Ganju. Ichigo felt the same chill of terror as he did in Karakura High School, looking into that single wobbling eye. His pain became paralysis as he struggled to focus on the situation at hand but it was nearly impossible at this point. There was a sudden tug at his heart, at his innards and the constituents beyond his body. He knew he should have cut it down but he felt a strange connection to the corpse as it started to shuffle toward him, dropping wet lumps of flesh along the way. 

“Huah!” Ganju’s grunt was coupled with a motion against the ground in front of the shambling corpse, making a few circles with his hand. He darted back again, thrusting his arm at the area he gestured at to turn the piece of earth into sand. The corpse’s next step plunged it into a drifting pit of sand, scratching and clawing at the surrounding concrete on its way into the sewage drain. All that seemed to remain were the desperate markings from its rotten finger bones. “I’ve seen enough of these things around Kukaku’s place but never one that came back to life. Just rotten bags of bones. Now, let’s go.”

Ichigo’s paralysis grew weaker, allowing him to start walking again. He pulled Hanataro along while Ganju trailed behind. Hanataro scurried further ahead to gain as much distance from the artificial pit as possible and Ichigo gave a brief pause to look over the side before walking close behind him. Ganju, however, continued to berate the undead figure, arms resting behind his head during his casual stride. Ichigo didn’t appreciate it. “Ganju, can you shut your fat mouth for  _ once _ ? These aren’t just monsters. These were  _ people _ .”

Ganju stopped beside the pit, giving Ichigo a confused look. “The hell are you talking about? Is  _ that _ why you just stood there when it was getting ready to jump at ya? Look, they might have been people at one point but when they’re dead,  _ they’re dead _ . They don’t matter.”

“Is that why you don’t like Shinigami? We suddenly don’t matter? I wonder if this is how you treat anybody outside your ‘proud’ Shiba Clan.” Ichigo turned around fully, giving Ganju a stern look.

“I don’t like you damn Shinigami because you’re such hypocritical bastards! You’ll slaughter Hollows and even your own at a whim but try and act like you’ve got  _ morals _ and  _ laws _ !” Ganju stormed past Hanataro, flinging him against the wall, and stopped just inches away from Ichigo’s face. “ _ All _ of you are just murderers, glorified  _ thugs _ . The  _ only _ reason I’m teaming up with you is to save this friend of yours.”

Ichigo’s eyes darted from Ganju’s to see something crawling along the side of the walkway, making its way to them. “Ganju…”

“Don’t interrupt me now, dammit!  _ You _ wanted to try and talk down to me,  _ I’m _ gonna tell you how it is!” Ganju was too enveloped in his own hatred toward the Shinigami to register the upper half of the blackened corpse digging its fingers into the back of his shoulders, bringing its almost completely rotten face to meet his own. Its eyes were completely washed out now, its hair slick and stringy. From the blackness of its throat emerged a short burst of dark vomit to splatter against Ganju’s face before Ichigo flung the partial skeleton back into the water with his blade. Before it could make its way back, it was shattered from a Getsuga Tenshou that, incidentally, tore through much of the concrete surrounding them. 

The tunnel began to tremor as cracks and crevices widened from the attack, suddenly giving in to instability. Chunks of concrete fell from the ceiling, some of them barely missing the trio on their way to crush rats that waded in the sewer water. “Come on! This way!”

One of the waves of sewer water splashed against Ganju, fueling a string of complaints and cursing as he used the water to wash off the black vomit. All three of them sped along the crumbling pathway until they finally reached a pillar of light that beamed through a sewer grate, barely making it out before that portion of the tunnel completely caved in. Ganju took deep, exaggerated breaths of the fresh air and flopped on his back to stare at the calm blue sky. As Ganju turned about to get to his feet, he, Ichigo and Hanato found themselves staring through the residual smoke of the collapse, at the Sixth Squad Lieutenant, Renji Abarai.

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 8 End_ **


	9. Wolf Eat Dog

_ "I’ve breathed enough sewer water to gag a hippo!" _

  
  


  * Ganju Shiba



  
  
  
  


“I’m surprised you’re not dead right now. With the wounds Byakuya inflicted, you should be out of commission.” The vermillion-haired lieutenant cleared the smoke with a single swipe of his Zanpakuto, letting the setting sun gleam from its edge. Behind him were steps leading through a massive, castle-like structure and toward the infamous execution grounds -- Sokyoku Hill. Though Hanataro was filled with fear and Ganju with uncertainty at seeing a lieutenant-level Shinigami standing in their path, Ichigo’s eyes were filled with resolve.

“I’m stubborn. Thought you knew?” Ichigo started toward Renji with the restrictive bandages already falling from his blade in its unsheathing. 

“Even so, this is as far as you go, Ichigo Kurosaki!” Renji dashed forward to close the gap while swinging his sword against Ichigo in a horizontal slash.

“I’ll go right through you!” Ichigo fired back as his defiant energy resonated through his Zanpakuto, clashing blades with Renji in his upward slice. Unlike their first encounter, both Ichigo and Renji were at a level one would consider even. Bodies swayed with skill, dust kicked up between their deadly swipes and the edges of their blades grazed their uniforms in lieu of impaling flesh. Every dash and dodge was laced with hot winds chilled cold by their supernatural effort. But, eventually, Ichigo gained the upper hand, pinning Renji and his katana against the base of a rock wall.

“You  _ idiot _ ! You really haven’t learned a thing, have you?! Nghh…” Renji tried to push back against Ichigo, lifting himself off the rock only to be slammed back into the jagged surface from Ichigo’s brute strength. “Do you even understand that you’re an  _ infected soul _ ?! Even  _ if _ you were able to get past me, which I  _ doubt _ , and even  _ if _ you were to get through the other more powerful captains to save Rukia, which is  _ impossible _ , you’ll eventually become one of those  _ things _ !”

“I don’t care  _ what _ I become! All that matters is that Rukia will be safe!” Ichigo pushed harder against Renji’s katana, gritting his teeth with adolescent rage. 

“That’s just it! You don’t  _ care _ !” Renji summoned his inner strength to launch Ichigo into the air before calling forth that of his sword. “ _ Roar, Zabimaru! _ ”

Ichigo landed on his feet with a fair bit of distance between them, watching Ganju hunch over in pain while Hanataro led him off to the side. As his eyes focused back on Renji, he saw the familiar snake sword rocket in his direction and he barely dodged its vicious fang with a quick sidestep. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

“ _ You’re _ the reason Rukia is going to be executed.  _ You’re _ the one who made the infected go crazy.  _ You’re  _ the reason any of this is happening  _ at all _ and you refuse to see it! I won’t let any infected freak, let alone some dense Ryoka, get near Rukia!” Renji’s next lash was faster and rocketed towards Ichigo before he could even hope to dodge. With his massive blade up to block, both he and his Zanpakuto were sent clear across the field and into an opposing building to crash through brick and stone. Renji retracted his blade to snap together before quickly swinging it about in a circle, letting Ichigo’s tainted blood pepper the ground.

On the sidelines, Ganju held his stomach and head while looking over to the splattered blood, just two shades from black. “I hope I washed all that crap off…”

Hanataro’s face and hands were already clad in a surgical mask and gloves, urging Ganju to lie down. He held two red pills with a skull and crossbones printed on them “I think most of it came off in the sewer. Here, take these. They should help taper off any effects. Even a few seconds of that stuff can bring an hour or two of flu-like symptoms.”

Ganju’s head was lifted and placed on a folded piece of cloth Hanataro provided. His eyes lidded halfway as he looked over to Ichigo emerging from the building rubble in the distance. “If that punk-ass Shinigami can fight this crap, so can I. Heh.”

“Just how in the hell...can you say that I don’t care…” Ichigo stepped further from the smoke and rubble with his Zanpakuto resting on his shoulders. Blood trailed down the side of his face from a fresh gash, soaking his cheek and coloring his neck with a steady drip. “When I’m risking my life to save her?!”

“Tch..” Renji aimed his sword at Ichigo. “You’re a fool.”

“And  _ you’re _ wasting time! Fighting me and blaming me for something  _ I _ didn’t cause isn’t going to fix things. I’ll take you down if I have to but I’m saving Rukia.” Ichigo gripped his sword with both hands while staring Renji down and eased into a running start. “End of story!”

Renji’s feet rushed back into battle as he whipped around the deadly, fanged Zabimaru to clash against Ichigo’s blade. The surrounding structures exploded with dust and flooded with the blood of resolve, rubble glazed in crimson while the sharp clatter of metal continued to echo. Ichigo struggled to plant his feet on the ground only to have them lift to the skies with every attempted parry. But Zabimaru wasn’t caught in a stalemate, instead ripping and pulling around his sword after each impact, tearing gashes into his trapezius muscles. While Renji tore into the teenage Shinigami, he darted around the splashes of blood that colored the pale stone. “Just give  _ up _ , Ryoka!”

Ichigo’s feet skidded to a stop and he slammed the edge of his sword into the ground. He had lost track of time. He knew it. Through the veil of blood masking an eye, he saw the orange rays of a beautiful sunset just behind Renji. There was room to breathe, room to think but not much else. Holding himself from the ground on a single knee, he found space for a rebuttal with flared nostrils and a blood-tinged mouth. “You were wrong, Renji….about...me being….selfish…and I...was wrong about you...”

“How’s that?” Renji flicked his wrist to call Zabimaru’s extended body back to the hilt with a satisfying clink. 

“I fight….as hard as I do….to protect my  _ friends _ ...my  _ family _ ...my  _ home _ ...there’s a difference between those...who fight for  _ themselves _ and….those who fight for  _ others _ …” Ichigo tightened the grip on his sword hilt, slowly bringing himself to stand and stare Renji down eye to eye. “When….when our swords met...I could feel your resolve...it’s not one of malice...but one of honor…”

“What the hell would someone like  _ you _ know about honor?” Renji grimaced and matched Ichigo’s firm grip with his own.

“I know...you want to protect her...same as me...but I can’t stop here.” Ichigo lifted his sword from the ground, standing on his own two feet with shaky legs and a staggered stance. “I don’t know...what’s going on with...this  _ infection _ ...I don’t know or  _ care _ what’s happening to me...but I’ve gone through  _ hell _ to get here. I won’t die on my knees just because  _ you _ ...want me to. I’m not a monster….I’m better.”

“Enough!” Renji’s blade lashed out from the hilt with steel fangs aimed to sever Ichigo’s throat. In the motion of the swing, there was a bubbling sensation that rose from Ichigo’s gut, an almost instinctual desire to tear through Renji, despite any injuries he would endure. Everything inside of him told him to kill Renji, to simply end what he started that night in Karakura Town. All except for one voice that spoke up in a firm whisper, keeping the primal urges at bay. One that came from the sword itself.

Though Ichigo couldn’t discern who or even what exactly the voice said to him, he knew it was different than the one that urged him to kill without reason. It was here that he let his confidence flourish, unlocking a resolve that gave him a strength he had never experienced before. His hazel eyes flashed a luminescent blue as Zangetsu arced out to parry Zabimaru away, nearly flinging the blade out of Renji’s hand from sheer force. Zangetsu was raised high as blood rushed down Ichigo’s uniform and those flashing blue eyes locked onto Renji’s. “And  _ this _ ...is my resolve.”

For the first time in the fight, Renji felt true helplessness and awe. His mind flashed back to his recent defeat at the hands of Captain Kuchiki. In both cases, the strength of his pride carried him through the battle with a relentless fervor. In both cases, it seeded underestimation, leading to his downfall. The flash of blue-laced white light was overwhelming and, from it, came a jagged crescent of Reiatsu that blasted Renji into an uprooted slab of concrete. Once again, his headband fell from his head. Once again, he was paralyzed in pain. 

“ _ Goddammit! _ ” Renji threw his head back in anger and frustration, letting his crimson hair blossom. Barely able to move, his back rested against the impacted slab and blood ran in tandem with his hard-fought tears. “I really am...a stray dog, down to the bones. Barking at the moon with no guts to jump…”

Ichigo tried to start a walk toward Renji but stopped once he saw the redheaded Shinigami stubbornly lift himself off the concrete slab. Every step toward Ichigo added another splash of color to the ground. A thin beam of light connected them through the setting sun, leaving their surroundings in a cold, growing darkness. He stayed his tongue during Renji’s struggle and saw that, while his Zanpakuto laid on the ground, he never relinquished his pride. He stopped a few feet away from Ichigo as the two struggled to hold themselves up. Ichigo dared not lift his arms to exacerbate the deep gashes between his shoulders and Renji held firm his uniform to help clot the wound that measured from chest to belly. 

“I can  _ smell _ it. That bittersweet scent from infected blood... _ smoky fruit _ .” Renji waved his free arm out to the side while the other held together his bloody robes. “I bet she smelled it before we even came to the Human World. Stuck around you anyway, I guess…. _ fuck _ ….”

“I know there's darkness...deep within. But I’ll strike it down and...I’ll strike down  _ anyone _ who gets in the way of hurting my friends….” Ichigo nearly stumbled but impaled the ground with his sword again, galvanizing his posture and his resolve with a steely gaze. “If I become like these zombies, if I end up becoming a pile of bones or go insane....it doesn’t matter. I’ll save Rukia, no matter the cost. You’ll either help me or stay out of my way.”

Renji’s tears flowed more freely with every word of conviction Ichigo spoke but his eyes didn’t shrink, nor did his face crumple into a pathetic grimace. Instead, he pushed through his shame and found his own resolve, finally matching Ichigo’s stare. “Then you save her….you get your  _ ass _ up there and  _ save her _ !”

Renji’s body drifted to the side until his legs could no longer hold him. He fell into unconsciousness with a few shallow breaths, leaving Ichigo to stagger his way past him. His eyes focused on the crescent-shaped sun peeking out just behind the prison tower, pulling the edge of Zangetsu along the ground. The long, intermittent drag of steel against concrete soon came to a stop and the sun faded completely from his eyes.

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 9 End_ **


	10. Devil's Resolve

_"I can't wait until I'm older. There's nothing great about being young. Being young means that you're still naive. That's why it feels like you're soaring in the sky or sinking beneath the ocean when someone you admire betrays you. Those emotions control your entire life and can make you lose sight of who you are. By growing older, your heart grows more experienced. You grow one step further away from being controlled by your feelings and are able to keep from soaring through the sky or sinking to the depths of the ocean. That's what it means to grow older."_

  
  


  * Momo Hinamori



  
  


**The Next Day**

“Aaaaaaaaahhh! Captain Aizen!” Lieutenant Momo Hinamori’s scream rang throughout the barracks. Her glazed eyes struggled to look away from the corpse of the bespectacled captain. A katana ran through his chest and pinned him to a high tower for all to see, marked with a streak of blood beneath his body. She could barely recognize the fast-approaching footsteps of her fellow Shinigami.

“Momo! Are you okay?! What the hell is going on?!” Shuhei Hisagi, Rangiku Matsumoto, Izuru Kira and Tetsuzaemon Iba stopped just behind Momo, their eyes cast to the bloody East Holy Wall. Their stunned silence conflicted with Momo’s incessant cries and whimpers. But the solemn gathering was soon broken by the nonchalant inquiries of Gin Ichimaru.

“Goodness, why is everyone in such a _fuss_? It’s far too early to be screaming like this, you know.” Gin’s infamous grin was well-displayed in his slow, shuffling approach. 

Gin’s voice, while comforting to the other lieutenants, ripped Momo out of her grieving and sent her into a sudden rage. The petite lieutenant sharply twisted about on her heel with a hand tightly gripping the hilt of her blade. Her eyes, rigid with fury, stared up at Gin while Reiatsu flared from her body. There was no chance for words, instead opting to free her blade of its sheath and slash at his throat.

Just inches from injury, Gin’s unflinching body was protected by the blade of Izuru. “Whoa, Momo! Stop! What do you think you’re doing?! Have you gone crazy?!”

“Izuru, get out of my way! Why are you protecting that snake?!” Momo flicked her blade to her side and stared beyond the blonde lieutenant to glare at Gin’s smiling mug.

“Momo you _know_ I can’t allow anyone to draw their sword against my captain. I’m his _lieutenant_! Would you just calm down and talk to me?!” Izuru took a cautioned stance against Momo and kept his eye on her blade.

“Get. Out. Of. The _way_ , Izuru!” Momo’s angry glare was complimented with reddened eyes and warm tears. Her voice stuttered with sorrow as she struggled to maintain her rage.

“Momo, what is _wrong_ with you?! Get a hold of yourself!” Izuru placed one foot behind the other while his breath quickened.

“Get away from the captain!” Momo’s tears flowed freely and every word she spoke was laced with raw emotion.

Conversely, Izuru realized the situation and steadied his temperament. His hand tightened around the hilt of his Zanpakuto. “I will not move, Momo. Please, calm down.”

“ _Snap…_ ” Momo inhaled her mucus and tears with a sharp sniffle before staring him down. Her Reiatsu changed to something much more volatile. “ _TOBIUME!”_

A violent explosion of flame forced Gin and the lieutenants back while Izuru skidded across the wooden floorboards of the platform. From the sudden chaos, his voice rose again. “Momo, _stop it_ ! This is neither the _time_ nor the _place_ to act out your _grievances_!

But Momo’s logic had been robbed by her emotions, unable to process Izuru’s reasoning. Instead, she swung her Zanpakuto once more and unleashed a destructive sphere of flame in his direction.

“If you won’t reason like a friend, then you will suffer as an enemy. _Raise your head_ , _Waibisuke_!” Izuru swerved from the fireball’s path before taking to the skies, quickly coming down to strike against Momo. But as his geometric blade sought to bring her down, another had already blocked its path. 

“Cease this infighting immediately.” Captain Hitsugaya’s Zanpakuto pushed against Izuru’s while his foot pinned Tobiume to the ground. “Momo, I’m extremely disappointed in you.”

“But Toshiro….” Momo’s anger had fallen back and allowed her sorrow to re-emerge with a fresh stream of tears. 

“We’re facing a pandemic the likes we’ve never seen and we’re dealing with a Ryoka invasion.” Toshiro turned to face Momo, irritated. “At a time where prominent lieutenants are being cut down, you should not be attacking your own. But perhaps it can not be helped. Lieutenants,arrest these two immediately. I will recommend that they be tested for the Nether just in case.”

As Momo and Izuru were taken away by their fellow lieutenants, Gin walked past the chaos to approach Toshiro. “My my, I do apologize for involving you in this little skirmish, Captain Hitsugaya.”

“You _should_ be apologizing for trying to have Lieutenant Hinamori killed, Captain Ichimaru.” Toshiro was slow to sheathe his sword, ensuring that Gin could hear the scraping of steel along his scabbard.

“I have no _idea_ what you’re even---”

“If even one drop of blood is forced from Lieutenant Hinamori’s body, captain, I will kill you.” The sharp snap of Toshiro’s sword against his sheath made Gin twitch.

“Captain Hitsugaya, you’re coming off a bit _unhinged_ . Are you sure you don’t need to be tested as well?” Gin turned about to leave the area, shuffling away with his coat fluttering behind him. “There’s danger _everywhere_ , so I encourage you to keep a good eye on her.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


Ichigo, though bandaged and rested, gritted his teeth with every brisk step. He rushed to make it to the execution grounds while Hanato and a sickly Ganju followed close behind. But the closer they got, the more sluggish they became. The moment Ichigo spotted a silhouette atop a building in the near distance, he heard the vicious thuds of both Hanataro and Ganju hitting the ground. Ichigo felt a piercing force from the sudden Reiatsu and turned around, expecting to see his accoster. Instead, he witnessed his companions pinned to the ground from the pressure, writhing in pain. 

“You gonna stare at ‘em all day?” Kenpachi Zaraki’s deep, raspy voice and the sound of bells forced Ichigo to snap his head around. His eyes fell upon the tall captain with an inquisitive stare, already sweating from the bloodlust attacking his body. Frozen in this moment, he felt as if blades were being drawn against his neck and plunged through his gut. Slowly, the unhinged sensation receded from Ichigo, letting him wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“Who are you? What did you do to Hanataro and Ganju?!” Ichigo’s questions feigned strength and even he could sense the tremors in his voice. 

“Kenpachi Zaraki. Captain of Squad Eleven. Ikkaku should’ve told you about me, right, Ichigo Kurosaki?” He smiled the moment Ichigo’s face filled with the horrific realization and cackled. “I wouldn’t worry about those two. You’ll _all_ be dead soon.”

Ichigo’s protective instincts kicked in. He arced a foot out to enter his fighting stance with furrowed brows. “You leave them out of this.”

“Can’t do that, Ichi!” The pink-haired child, Yachiru, popped up from behind Zaraki’s shoulder with a wide smile and dimpled cheeks. “The top captain gave orders to kill _aaaaaanybody_ who’s infected. That means you and the ugly guy over there.”

Ganju flinched, struggling to raise his head to respond but he quickly collapsed again. “W-who...you callin’....ugh!”

“And even though that _is_ the order from Old Man Yama, I couldn’t give two _shits_ about ‘em. Yachiru, clear ‘em out.” Zaraki’s focus came to fully rest upon Ichigo while Yachiru’s feet pitter-pattered past them to punt Ganju and Hanataro out of the immediate corridor. “I’ve been waitin’ all _night_ for you. Killin’ the infected was fun at first but then it just got repetitive. Wasn’t much different than squashin’ bugs. But you, you’re different. Ain’t ya?”

Sensing the rising tension, Ichigo tried to put his mind at ease with the fact that Ganju and Hanataro were at least out of harm’s way. His Zanpakuto was pulled free from the restraint of its bandages to be held out in front of him. “If you mean I’m not running around like a chicken with my head cut off, then sure. Different.”

“Ikkaku, Renji, even tradin’ blows with Captain Ichimaru from what I heard --- no _normal_ infected would’ve been able to make it all this way. And here you are, barely staggerin’ from my Reiatsu. Makes me wonder…” Zaraki’s grin widened as he pondered on Ichigo.

“For the last time, I’m _not responsible_ for the chaos happening around here, okay?! I’m just here to save Rukia.” Ichigo’s stance became firm and his resolve was rising.

“I don’t care about that shit. I’m here to see if you’re the real deal or just some lucky punk. Either way---” Zaraki pulled his haori open to expose most of his broad chest, eyes half-lidded. “I wanna see it.”

“S-see what?!” Ichigo struggled to steady his sword.

“Don’t bullshit me. You and I, we can both feel it. Your Reiatsu is wild but caged up, contained like an animal. So release it and take the first strike. Think of it as a courtesy. You can aim wherever you like, as long as you don’t hold back.” Zaraki’s eyes refused to leave Ichigo’s. He stared beyond his shell and toward the darkness that was gestating in his soul.

“Are you mocking me?! You’re leaving yourself wide open for me to attack?! What the hell is your problem?!” Ichigo’s irritation fueled his temples with a familiar throbbing pain. 

The slight surges in Ichigo’s Reiatsu gave Zaraki all the more reason to goad him on. “And what if I am? If you’re gonna stand there and shake like a woman, what the hell kind of fight are we _supposed_ to have?”

Spurred by Zaraki’s words, Ichigo roared with power and swung his blade to meet the Shinigami’s chest. But the strike carried no weight and came to a sudden stop instead of cleaving through Zaraki’s flesh. The disheartening blow chilled any vigor Ichigo had built up and charged him with an overwhelming sense of danger. He felt Zaraki’s gaze become stoic and unimpressed, a subtle shift between their Reiatsu. His thoughts started racing once he felt blood dripping from his hands instead.

“Unbelievable. Are ya sandbaggin’ me?” Zaraki’s hand eased up the edge of Zangetsu and violently shoved Ichigo backwards, watching him skid across the ground into a kneeling position. He gripped the hilt of his Zanpakuto and pulled the rugged, chipped blade from his sash to aim at Ichigo. “If you’re not gonna let loose, then I’ll just _beat_ it out of you. If you die along the way, too bad.”

Ichigo struggled to summon the strength to clash with Zaraki but his thoughts and his heart were at odds. The Nether was practically urging him to discard his inhibitions and fight Zaraki with everything at his disposal, crawling through his veins. But every migraine, every lurch in his stomach reminded him of Urahara’s words about how his emotions would be the gateway to his downfall. Before Ichigo could clear his mind, Zaraki was on him and his blade was swift in its downward swing. Ichigo clashed just in time, riddled with fear and anxiety. 

But his sword buckled under the might of Zaraki and quivered along the worn blade. The captain’s strength ripped the two swords from their clash, sending his own into the ground below and knocking Ichigo backwards. Another swing was made at Ichigo’s head, aimed to collect his scalp in a clean slice if not for his quick reflexes. The terror was starting to overtake the teenager as he darted away from the confrontation, trying to hype himself off his fearful state. Around corners and through corridors, he looked up every now and again at the towers that surrounded him in the spiritual city, wondering if he had lost the crazed swordsman. 

“Found ya.” A wall beside Ichigo exploded out in a destructive blossom of concrete and smoke. Zaraki’s blade clashed again with Zangestu but, this time, there was no struggle. Ichigo was hurled back from the swing and felt the air whip violently around his body before crashing to the ground. Zaraki emerged from the rubble with lips pulled down taut. “Lost the will to fight already? Now you’re not even makin’ it worthwhile.”

Ichigo pinned Zangetsu’s edge into the ground with forearms resting atop its hilt as he huffed. Sweat ran along his brow as he looked to see Zaraki approaching from a distance. He couldn’t tell if the pounding in his chest was his heart seeking respite or the darkness within wanting to break free. His mind wouldn’t allow him to rest and his blade began to tremble again, prompting him to close his eyes. To calm his thoughts through will alone. But in the absence of light, he saw a face, a blurred reflection that stared right back at him. Shocked, his eyes opened to Zaraki’s blade slicing open his cheek, forcing him back again. “D-dammit…”

“If this is all you’re gonna do, I might as well go kill those two and leave you here.” Zaraki turned his back on Ichigo to walk in the direction of Hanataro and Ganju, lifting his blade to his shoulder. “I’ll wipe out your infected friends and then see if you’ve toughened up by then.”

A trail of blood ran down from Ichigo’s injured cheek to collect on his lower lip. His tongue twitched, struggling to pull from his mouth and soak in the liquid but he bit down to stop. Zangetsu was pulled from the ground with feet dashing toward Zaraki, followed by a scream of valor. “I won’t quit!”

Zaraki turned around just in time to parry Ichigo’s blade but, surprisingly, it was _his_ force that was knocked off balance to give Kurosaki an opening. The strike was quick, followed by a superficial gush of blood that painted the ground below. That single eye gazed down at Ichigo to see him sweating and panting but not shaken. No longer afraid. There was a will that was not yet broken and the thought of testing its mettle was the spark to Zaraki’s emerging bloodlust. “Then let’s play.”

Ichigo tried to drive Zaraki back with wide swings of his blade while Zaraki’s Zanpakuto let out a menacing squeal as it scraped the Earth to preface the deadly strikes. But even with the drive of his resolve, Ichigo found it painfully difficult just to keep up with Zaraki and the widening grin the captain bore during the encounter only served to whittle away at his second wind even faster. Neither were able to land another hit, much to Zaraki’s chagrin, and he decided to break the tense stalemate. As their blades clashed once more, the steel jostled and twitched in the struggle before Zaraki extended his free hand to grab Ichigo’s blade. Blood dripped from the fresh cut as the captain pulled both Ichigo and his sword toward him, breaking the clash and aiming to pierce his chest.

The teenager relieved Zangetsu of his double-handed grip to just miss being impaled, swinging around Zaraki before breaking the captain’s grip with a harsh kick. Ichigo landed across the way, panting and looking up to see that Zaraki had vanished once more. But the sound of his bells alerted him to his presence and he raised Zangetsu to block an overhead strike from behind, gaining Zaraki’s praise. “Good. You’re able to _hear_ me. Here I thought holding back with my eyepatch and bells would go to waste.”

Ichigo pushed Zaraki away to gain some distance and turned around to have the piece of mind of having him in his sight. He held his blade out in front of him with sweat running down his brow. “Holding back, huh? How can you even talk about me keeping this...this... _plague_ in check when you won’t even let your sword transform? Sounds like some hypocritical bullshit, especially since I can cut you now.”

Ichigo’s blade was forced up almost immediately by Zaraki’s sword and the back of Zangetsu was mere inches away from the teenager’s face. While it looked like Zaraki was simply nudging Ichigo’s sword up and back against him, the sheer force behind it was palpable enough to make Ichigo’s arms tremble just to hold his grip. The grin was gone and the threatening tone that accompanied the captain’s voice was clearer than ever. “My Zanpakuto doesn’t transform. It isn’t even sealed to begin with. It is what it is. Besides, _me_ holding back is different from _you_ holding back.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened at Zaraki’s chipped blade slowly slicing through his sword’s edge like a knife through butter. “W-what the fu--”

“ _You_ shouldn’t hold back because it’s the only way you’ll leave here alive. Without the plague, you’d barely last a few seconds one-on-one against me and your arrogance doesn’t make up for it. For you, it’s survival.” Zaraki’s body eased forward, deepening the gash of metal. “ _I_ hold back because it prevents a fight from becoming an outright slaughter. My spiritual energy is too damn intense. Hell, I couldn’t contain it if I tried. I give these handicaps so that I can enjoy the fight. But, so far, I’ve barely knocked the rust off my sword.”

The last few inches of Ichigo’s blade were severed in an instant, splitting the Zanpakuto in two. As half of Zangetsu split off from its body, so did a fresh spurt of blood rush from Ichigo’s gashed throat. What remained attached to the hilt fell from Ichigo’s hands as he collapsed to the ground, gripping his gushing wound in vain. Every word devolved into a chunky gurgle and his tongue soon drowned in the sanguine that pooled from his injury. His eyes rolled to the back of his head while he collapsed to the ground, snorting, grunting, wheezing in a failed attempt to survive. Zaraki, meanwhile, could do little more than look down at him in shame, hefting his rugged blade over his shoulder.

“What a waste.” The captain turned about, heading in Hanataro and Ganju’s direction. At the same time, Ichigo’s pulse faded and his senses shifted into the realm of hallucinogenic. At least, that’s what he initially believed. With what little energy remained, Ichigo’s eyes rolled back into place, not to settle on Zaraki’s departure but on a terrifying silhouette. The shadow ebbed and flowed in jerky movements despite still limbs, flaring off the figure like small bursts of static.

For Ichigo, time had all but stopped and the streaks of blood that painted those grim corridors had lost their color. The air was thick with the lingering scent of grapes as the silhouette inched closer to the bleeding Shinigami. With every terrifying step, Ichigo felt the Nether surging from within and an overwhelming sense of warmth overtake him. A multitude of voices crowded his ear, pleas from people he didn’t even know and screams from those he wished he could save. But as the shadow extended a hand to him, it was swiftly cut aside by a shining blue light. “No! You will not have him.”

Ichigo found the strength to crane his neck up and see a cloaked, middle-aged man with sunglasses and flowing wavy hair staring down the erratic creature. He saw that the shadow wanted to move against him but the man’s hardened stare, and the power behind it, was enough of a deterrent. “Zan...getsu….”

“Ichigo, if you die here, you will be truly lost. But if you want to win, if you want to survive, then answer me. Tell me what you want.” Zangetsu watched as the shadow became more erratic, parts of its body blurring, splitting and rejoining as it twitched in place.

“I want….to fight. I want….to...win...please…” Ichigo’s fingers scraped against the ground as the bleeding suddenly ceased. Zangetsu’s cloak soon wrapped around his body to envelop him in his own shadow and pull him from the threat at hand.

💀 💀 💀

Ichigo soon regained consciousness in his Inner World, somewhat distressed at the changes. The smooth, pristine surfaces of the skyscrapers were now of gray concrete, coarse enough to scrape flesh and encourage stumbling on foolish footing. The bright, sunny skies had descended into a perpetual dusk, streaking shades of orange and purple across the horizon. He looked around, more surprised that all the buildings were horizontal than the fact the environment changed so sharply. “What’s...what’s all this? What changed?”

“You did, Ichigo.” Zangetsu appeared on a skyscraper opposite of him staring at Ichigo through his stylish orange shades. He tossed a katana at Ichigo. “The fight between you and the Nether isn’t just surface deep. Your inner world is being changed by the constant pressure of this plague that’s trying to take hold of you. The longer that it digs its roots, the more you and this world will change. But I can help you fight it if you show me that you have the strength to wield me. I can not fight for a corpse.”

“Ah! Are you crazy, Zangetsu?! You could have at least given me a little warning before lobbing a freaking sword at me!” Ichigo caught the blade at the last minute before looking it over. “Where’s _my_ sword, though? This just looks like an ordinary katana.”

“It is an Asauchi, a nameless Zanpakuto given to those who are unworthy of the Gotei 13. Ever since you became a Shinigami, you have only put stock in your own strength, seeing your sword as a tool like Zaraki does. Strength does not come from self alone.” Zangetsu lifted Ichigo’s true Shikai in his other hand and tossed it off the skyscraper. “To keep this darkness at bay, to escape the grim clutches of death, you must prove yourself worthy of my strength. You must understand that you are not in this alone. Because that’s exactly what _it_ wants.”

“Gah!” Ichigo’s feet scraped across the concrete of the skyscraper as he dashed toward the falling Zanpakuto. But the quickened multitude of voices he heard before were coming back, crowding his ears before being broken by a masculine voice razed with static. 

“Sword---tcczzzzch!----belongs---tchzzzch!--- _me_!” The silhouette from before came running up alongside him. Before he passed him up with his incredible speed, Ichigo made out the shape of his face, the composition of his body and even the original voice that was layered with static. It sounded, and almost looked, like him. Those piercing purple eyes turned to look at him briefly while sporting a psychotic grin of gleaming black teeth. A sudden burst of speed nearly drove Ichigo to the ground but he continued on, following the resulting gash of concrete and glass end at the building’s edge.

Just as he peered over the skyscraper, the blade of his Shikai ascended with the silhouette in an attempt to behead him. Instead, he simply lost a few strands of orange hair while stumbling backward. He gripped the Asauchi tight while watching the silhouette’s glitching body spin the Shikai between his fingers before impaling it into the concrete. Ichigo took advantage of the momentary silence to get some answers. “Who are you? Are you...the Nether?”

“Tcczzch!---You!” The silhouette hefted the Shikai at Ichigo in an upward slash, launching shattered concrete and broken glass to start the fight. Assuming that he just cussed him out in response, Ichigo decided against trying to speak to the shadow and, instead, went to cross swords. But every blow reminded him of his fight against Zaraki from the ineffectual strikes of his Asauchi to the devastating impact and weight coming from the shadow. Even the sense of dread was comparable but, at this juncture, it felt like a literal weight in Ichigo’s bones. Lifting the Asauchi was becoming a chore and every strike to parry the silhouette made him sweat. “Tcczzch! ---selfish---tczzzzzzzzzch---embrace---tczzzzch---die!”

“Gnnaaahh!” Ichigo could only try to hold his own with each deafening strike against the parrying Asauchi, looking around for Zangetsu whenever he could. Soon, the blows became so destructive that they were driving him into the skyscraper itself, scattering concrete in violent blossoms from each sudden crater. The silhouette took full advantage of his increase in strength to knock Ichigo off balance with his last parry, letting the weight of the sword drive him to questionable footing. He followed up with an overhead slash that clashed against Ichigo’s Asauchi and drove him straight through the building. Ichigo pulled himself up to look around the dark hallway with only the light of dusk offering illuminating slivers through cracked and shattered windows. “Fuck...Zangetsu...I need you…”

“Tcczzhhh!---here!” That static voice boomed from above, giving Ichigo time to move out the way of being impaled. The silhouette landed in a kneeling stance with the Shikai stabbed into the wall. Ichigo saw no other option but to gain some distance between himself and the silhouette but he barely got the chance to navigate the maze of hallways before he heard a loud whistling of air come from behind him. He turned just in time to parry an airborne Shikai that would have impaled him yet again. But instead of flying past him, the giant blade was yanked back on a thick rope forged of flesh. He saw the silhouette bear that gleaming grin once more, twirling the Shikai by the strand of skin. The speed of its twirl filled the hallway with a constant gale of wind. “Tccczzzchhh!---play darts!”

The large Shikai raced through the air for Ichigo to parry but the force was overwhelming, nearly knocking the sword from his hand. To his horror, every launch of the Shikai was fast enough to come in immediate succession, despite him and the silhouette being at opposite ends of the hallway. With every clash, he saw the silhouette walking ever closer with the patches of dusk light making his inky black face shine. Black liquid oozed from those demented rows of teeth and his purple eyes were starting to blaze with power. With an especially violent toss of the Shikai, the silhouette swayed to the side to wedge Ichigo’s Asauchi into the concrete. 

“N-no. Dammit! C’mon!” Ichigo was sweating bullets as he struggled to pull his Asauchi from the dense layers of concrete, kicking at the surface with his foot. He screamed in frustration as his eyes were locked on the silhouette and the frightening realization that he was now starting to run with his spinning Shikai. “I can’t do it alone! I need my partner! ZANGETSU, I NEED YOU!”

“Tccchhzzzch!---death!” The silhouette swung his Shikai with enough force to blow out the sides of the hallway from its gale force, initiating a deafening sonic boom. The silhouette’s face changed from crazed to surprised as he saw Ichigo blocking the attack with the flat of his blade, of his Shikai. The swords had changed hands, leaving the silhouette with the damaged Asauchi while Ichigo confidently wielded his Shikai once again. Through the dusky orange light that now bathed them both, the silhouette seethed at Ichigo’s confident expression. Death would not take him this day.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

A sudden surge of Reiatsu paused Zaraki’s steps, forcing him to crane his neck about and witness Ichigo Kurosaki rising from the ground with his Zanpakuto fully intact. It wasn’t the rippling power his body now exerted or the blood that halted from his wounds that drew his full attention. Rather, it was his eyes. It was the eyes of someone who had beaten back death and stared back at Zaraki, brimming with blue energy. Zaraki’s hand moved to bring his sword off his shoulder only to feel Zangetsu slashing into one of his trapezius muscles. Blood flourished as he brought his sword up to clash against Ichigo’s in the following attempt. “Well, son of a bitch!”

Their swords continued to meet, exchanging clinks and scrapes. Zaraki knew that Ichigo wanted more, he knew that he was going for that other shoulder but, for some reason, he couldn’t keep him away. The hunger that was nowhere to be found at the beginning of their fight was now painfully present, voracious in its desire to taste more of the berserker’s blood. With a powerful upward slash, one that cleaved into the earth on its way up, he sliced into his other trapezius muscle. Zaraki was sent flying back and only grinded to a halt from driving his sword into the wall. As their blades rested, Ichigo listened to the labored, raspy breaths Zaraki took and watched a toothy, almost demonic grin come across his face.

“Finally….WE CAN PLAY!” Zaraki dashed toward Ichigo with a psychopathic smile and let Zangetsu carve into the side of his face, just to close the distance to impale Ichigo’s throat. The teenager moved away to mitigate the damage, earning a similar carving along his cheek instead. The impact of their blades created sparks while their primal shouts only served to make their exchanges all the more brutal. While Ichigo sliced through flesh and muscle, he was shocked to see that every blow only stimulated Zaraki’s masochistic arousal, making him fight even harder. Between the swings of his swords, Ichigo was coming down off of his revival high while listening to Zaraki cackle like a madman. “I _knew_ there was more in ya! Hell, you’re almost making this an uneven fight for _me_!”

“Ngh! Why are you happy to get hurt? Are you fucked in the head?!” Ichigo clashed against Zaraki again but the stonewall reluctance he felt at the beginning of their fight seemed to return. Instead of being faced with an expression of reluctance, Zaraki beamed down at him with a joyous face that was far too disturbing to gaze at directly. He dashed away from the captain and held his stance, trying to bolster the confidence he only just recently retrieved.

“Are _you_ ?! How can you _not_ be enjoying this?! This should be a highlight in your life! Injuries? Death? Just risks of havin’ a good time! But let’s see if we can’t make this even better.” Zaraki’s free hand snatched the eyepatch off his face, illuminating his eyes with a golden glow and revealing the monstrous Reiatsu that lied beneath. Yellow Reiatsu erupted from his body as he lifted the eyepatch for Ichigo to see. Multiple mouths chattered just beneath while the straps writhed like tentacles. “The eggheads at the R&D department made this for me when I said I needed something to contain my power --- a monster that constantly feeds off of spiritual energy. But now that you can take it, I’ll use this strength to run my blade right through your belly.”

Though Ichigo’s body quaked at the mere presence of Zaraki’s fully unleashed Reiatsu, he remembered the words of Zangetsu and steeled himself for the deciding blow. In response, his Reiatsu exploded into a blue plume of fire, roaring out against Zaraki with eyes of translucent blue. “Then I’ll match you. Zangetsu gives me strength. We fight together.”

“Zangetsu? That the name of your Zanpakuto? Fighting together? What kind of bullshit is that?” Zaraki flicked his sword around his head and bisected the buildings in the immediate area. “Zanpakuto are swords, tools used to cut down an opponent! The only power you draw on is your own and, though that, you have the most brutal, exhilarating fight of your life! Don’t spout that bullshit at me, Ichigo! We’re both beyond that! We’re _warriors_!”

Kenpachi initiated, running with his sword screeching across the ground and howling like a demon. Ichigo returned the favor, screaming with determination as he swung his sword to cleave the beast made man. Blue and yellow Reiatsus clashed along with their blades to elicit a powerful explosion of energy that cleared out every surrounding building. Smoke and dust obscured the collateral damage as Ichigo and Zaraki stood in the center of the destruction. They were both frozen with expressions of awe. Ichigo’s blade had doubled down into Zaraki’s shoulder and was close to lobbing it off completely, stopping just inches away from slicing through his lungs. Zaraki’s sword ran Ichigo through completely, piercing through his chest and missing his spine by mere centimeters.

Both pulses were barely present but it was Ichigo who was the first to fall from Zaraki’s weapon. He crumpled to his knees and spoke his piece before falling back with Zangetsu in a pool of blood. “I’m sorry….guys…”

Zaraki’s raspy breathing became loud and labored as he stared down at Ichigo’s unconscious body. After a few moments, he started to chuckle to himself while looking at his sword. A crack, a split and a metallic clank broke the silence as he lifted what remained of his now broken sword. Dizziness, wobbly legs, sudden drop in adrenaline --- he had been around long enough to know this feeling. On his way to the ground, he uttered. “Heh...you won...dumbass…”

The battlefield cleared itself as the wind blew away thick clouds of smoke and revealed mountains of crumbled buildings. The corridors had been wiped away into patches of open space between the concrete mounds while a ring of blood surrounded both Ichigo and Zaraki’s bodies. Yachiru rushed to survey the end result of battle, checking Zaraki’s wounds with her usual, bubbly smile. But while she was confident that her captain and confidant was simply taking a “nap” from such an enjoyable battle, her own wellbeing was called into question once the loud scraping of dragging feet filled the area. She paid it no mind until a familiar voice called out, warped with a gurgling tone of discontent.

“Who….you callin’....ugly?”

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 10 End_ **


	11. Vengeance, Guide My Hand

_ "I swear on the pride of the Quincy, I will kill you." _

  
  


  * Uryu Ishida



  
  


**That Evening**

In the dead of night, the bespectacled Ishida youth kept Orihime close during their stealthy stroll throughout the Soul Society’s barracks. They timed their steps with their breaths, ensuring that their eyes didn’t meet with those of the roaming Shinigami who were vehement on putting them out of their misery as part of the infected. Although they were both disguised in black Shinigami robes, one person couldn’t help but comment on their odd movements.

“Whyyyyy….are...you twooo….skulking aboooout?” The raspy voice of Makizo Aramaki crept into the ears of Orihime and Uryu. Both turned about to see the pale-faced, slick-haired Shinigami standing a few arms-lengths behind them. His posture was oddly still beside a minor, but noticeable, sideways lean in his upper body. But the teenagers didn’t gaze at his purple-flecked eyes or the ragged condition of his robes. Their eyes instead settled on Makizo’s unsheathed katana that gleamed with moonlight every time he moved. 

“He’s….infected.” Orihime slowly backed away with Uryu but Makizo matched their steps.

“Not so loud, Orihime. Maybe he just thinks we’re Shinigami too.” Uryu looked at Orihime, prompting her to nod before he turned back to face Makizo. “We were just doing...final checks for the Ryoka, making sure the district was cl--”

“WHAT….division?” Makizo’s shout of the first word was followed by a painfully slow enunciation of the second. His eyes shifted to Orihime while he licked his lips, exposing his black tongue and partially rotted lips. His feet shuffled closer with nostrils that greedily sucked in air, sniffing at Orihime like a wild animal. “I….dooooon’t REMEMBER seeing...ah...you arOUND. I would...HAVE known….”

Uryu continued to step back with Orihime while keeping an eye on Makizo’s katana and how the blade raised ever so slightly. “Listen, just let us go. No one has to know we were here.”

Makizo stopped before turning his gaze to Uryu with a few loud pops of his neck. “The FATHER...would...know….HE KNOWS everyyyythiiiing….heeeee would KNOW….THAT you aren’t FAMILY…”

Uryu cursed under his breath as he watched Makizo raise the tip of his blade in his direction. But his eyes suddenly widened as Makizo’s throat bulged, his voice gurgling with a thick liquid. By the time he realized what was going on, he was too frozen in the moment, too paralyzed with indecision to act. The black vomit rocketed out Makizo’s throat and past his teeth in Uryu’s direction, only to splatter against the protective shielding of Orihime’s Shun Shun Rikka. Black sludge dripped from Makizo’s teeth as he seethed from his failure, opting instead to charge at Orihime and bash his katana against her shield. 

Orihime whimpered behind her shield and screamed after it broke from a handful of well-placed attacks. She watched the orange fragments scatter to reveal Makizo’s distorted face. 

“Orihime! Get down!” Orihime fell back on the ground while Uryu’s shout prefaced the quick whistle of a Heilig Pfiel racing through the air and into Makizo’s chest. The Shinigami groaned in agony and tossed his sword aside, clawing at the ground with unintelligible growls. Lips smacked and saliva frothed over his teeth as the pain radiated through his body. Uryu, bow in hand, gestured for Orihime to stay back as he approached the flailing infected. As he stood over his body, Makizo spit a viscous chunk of black vomit in Uryu’s face before screaming at him. Anxious and infuriated, Uryu pinned Makizo’s skull to the earth with a fatal Heilig Pfiel before wiping his face with his fake Shinigami robes. 

“Uryu! Are you--” Orihime tried to approach but was cut off by an extending, mechanical hand that pressed against one of the barracks. As she turned to the side, she caught sight of Captain Kurotsuchi, donning his ever-present toothy expression. 

“Hold on just right there, woman! Your abilities are rather  _ impressive _ , especially at negating Nether. Though, after what just happened to that  _ Quincy _ over there, I recommend you come stand over here with me.” The mechanical arm retracted from the wall only to wrap around Orihime and pull her toward Mayuri. As Uryu raced with his bow drawn back, he was tackled by Mayuri’s lieutenant, Nemu Kurotsuchi. With his arm fully retracted, Mayuri grabbed a handful of Orihime’s orange locks and examined her closely. “Hmmmmm! Untainted by Nether, unscathed, plenty of undiscovered opportunities with your negating abilities --- yes, you’re a prime specimen if I ever saw one! Don’t fret too much. As a reward for your easy capture, I’ll give you special treatment. It’s about as close to being treated as a human one could get! How does that sound?”

“She should get a second opinion.” Mayuri turned to feel Nemu slam into his body, releasing his grip on Orihime. As Uryu approached, he loaded his bow, keeping Mayuri and Nemu in his sights. “Run, Orihime! Get away from here,  _ now _ !”

Orihime, though weighed with emotion, quickly fled from the area while wiping tears from her face. Mayuri, on the other hand, was shouting at Nemu in the process of shoving her off of him. Standing to his feet, the captain dusted off his robes with a frustrated grunt before casting his bulging eyes on a fleeing Orihime. His neck then craned so that he could give Uryu the same unsettling stare. “You know, I’m becoming quite annoyed with you infected vermin.”

“I’m not infected.” Uryu’s brow furrowed as his eyes lit up behind the blue flame of his arrow.

“My research says otherwise. Three minutes ago, you were just one of the many Quincy I’ve seen over the years. Nothing special. But  _ now _ , you’ve become an infected rat and, as your death is commanded from one higher than me, I’ll have to settle for a battlefield vivisection. At the very least, I can rule out any abnormalities.” Mayuri placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and pointed behind Uryu. “Do you know what that fool Makizo was doing before he stumbled upon you and that girl? He was eating his comrades.”

Instinctually, Uryu snapped his head around to witness Makizo’s body starting to rot and decay from the Nether overwhelming his body. In a matter of seconds, the Shinigami’s body became nothing but a sticky pool of bone-riddled sludge. He turned back around to see the tip of Mayuri’s blade just inches from his neck while the captain’s grinning face sat unbothered beside Uryu’s taut bow. “How...did you move so fast? I’ve never seen---”

“A captain before? You truly are foolish if you’ve come all this way into enemy territory without even knowing the  _ top thirteen captains _ in charge of the property. I am Mayuri Kurotsuchi, Captain of Squad Twelve and President of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute.” Mayuri’s Reiatsu aura flared in the form of pink static. “Now, let’s begin the dissection!”

Heilig Pfiels ripped through the barracks, just missing Uryu while Mayuri’s blade, though ultimately clashing with air, was a constant danger with its surgical precision. Both warriors became blurred swatches of mixed color across the area in their struggle to land a blow and eventually came to stare each other down on opposite sides of a long rooftop. Uryu’s breaths were calm, as was his gaze. “You’re quite unhinged for a captain but from how you fight, you’ve earned your title.”

“And you’re very quick for a Quincy, especially one as young as you. If I’m not mistaken, you’re using Hirenkyaku to match my Shunpo. Your kind finds all sorts of alternative uses for Reishi and your young, intuitive mind makes this encounter all the more annoying. But, in a few minutes, your thoughts will be sloughed away by Nether.” Mayuri held his sword in front of his face, unblinking with his menacing grin. “As such, I would prefer you to be as stationary as possible.  _ Claw out, Ashisogi Jizo _ !”

Uryu witnessed Mayuri's Zanpakuto change from a rather ordinary katana with a bandaged hilt to a golden, three-pronged sword. The haunting visage of an infant face near the hilt made him uneasy, as did the jagged trident shape of the blades. But he kept his resolve, despite the odd purple mist that was rising from the eyes of the sword’s face. “I told you before, I’m not infected. I feel fine. If this is your attempt at trying to psyche me out, you’re not doing a very good job of it. It’ll take more than mind games and a weird sword to defeat me,  _ captain _ .”

“What kind of simpering idiot do you take me for? Did you really think that when I mentioned ‘research’ I meant the anecdotal ramblings of a fool?! Hmph! I suppose you’re not as sharp as I assumed! Similar to your long-deceased ilk, I’ve researched thousands, if not  _ millions _ , of people infected with Nether. One of the very first observations I made note of was the incubation period.” Mayuri’s Zanpakuto slowly tilted in Uryu’s direction as he spoke, the golden blades gleaming in the moonlight. “For a  _ normal _ soul, the infection usually takes hold within a minute. But, depending on the strength of the soul it attaches to, symptoms can kick in as late as  _ ten minutes _ after initial exposure. And, if my timing is correct, we’ve been having this unpleasant back and forth for about nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds.”

By the time Uryu’s mind connected the dots, he keeled over from a sharp pang in his stomach and a debilitating migraine. His teeth clenched and vision blurred as he lowered his bow, trying to keep his focus on Mayuri despite his increasing pain. But instead of seeing the advancing captain, he witnessed the quick movement of his lieutenant, Nemu. His reaction was sloppy with arms barely clutched around her body as she tackled him off the rooftop. He believed that using her as a shield would dissuade Mayuri from chasing after them until they could be separated. But, unbeknownst to the young Ishida, this is exactly the situation he planned for. 

Uryu felt the sharp, hot sensation of Ashisogi Jizo slicing along his body before he could see the wicked blade alongside its grinning owner. It was a chase down, a planned assault that Nemu took injury just to be a part of. While Nemu barely landed on her feet, Uryu crashed against the stone barrier a few meters away from her. Mayuri landed just before their pool of collective blood, taking note of the darker trail of liquid leading to Uryu. He then turned to his subordinate Nemu and brought her to the ground with a thunderous backhanded slap. “You fool! I was aiming to  _ bisect _ him! Now we’ve got his infected blood  _ all over _ the place for  _ no good reason _ . You  _ knew _ how you were supposed to position his body and you couldn’t even do  _ that _ right. Tsk tsk tsk! What a  _ mess _ .”

“Hng...attacking...your own subordinate? And then  _ belittling _ them?! How can you be so  _ careless _ ?! Agghkk!” Uryu spat up darker shades of blood while the migraine formed a vice grip around his skull, forcing him to press his head back against the wall with grunts of pain. Veins started to visibly throb along his skin while raising closer to the surface and his complexion was already two shades lighter than normal. His eyes clenched shut and reopened with small purple flecks mixed into his irises. 

“Ahhhh,  _ there _ it is. First come the bodily ailments, then the rapid deoxygenation of hemoglobin and, most notably, the progressive shift in eye color -- that special shade of purple. In about five minutes, the necrosis should start working its way through your internal organs, eating you away down to the bone. Once you’re dead, I can finish dissecting you before you become too troublesome.” Mayuri hovered the edge of his blade in front of Uryu’s face, snickering.

“Y-you  _ bastard _ ! Huh?” Through the intense pain, he struggled to move his limbs, to lunge forth and knock Mayuri off his feet. He pondered whether paralysis was a part of Mayuri’s Shikai but soon dismissed it once he felt the radiating pain of his bleeding wound and the encroaching Nether spreading through his body. He thought that the intense pain was working against his body but knew that he had suffered injuries and illnesses worse than what he was feeling. His anxiety started to skyrocket when the possibility of waiting to die flashed through his mind. “What the hell did you  _ do to me _ ?!”

“I did what I do to every infected being that I have to dissect --- I immobilized you. Thanks to a chemical concoction your feeble mind couldn’t hope to comprehend, Ashisogi Jizo’s special ability can completely block neural impulses involved in bodily movement.” The edge of Mayuri’s blade aimed toward the ground and shifted to sink into Uryu’s thigh. While the latter screamed in pain, Mayuri idly wriggled the hilt of his Zanpakuto to wedge the golden prongs deeper into the wound. “At the very  _ least _ , this provides a bit of nostalgia from when I first started experimenting with your kind. I wonder if you’ll swear on your ridiculous ‘Quincy Pride’ as well?”

“What..do nngh..you mnngghhhnnggg!” Uryu struggled to squint and grit his teeth in pain. His breathing, now a painful series of wheezes, became increasingly difficult. As Mayuri started to explain, vision at the corner of his eyes darkened, giving him tunnel vision of the sadistic captain.

“Now now! You shouldn’t be having your death rattles until the next minute and a half. What I  _ mean _ is that you Quincy are frustratingly stubborn. No matter what routine procedure I did to complete my research on your kind, from vivisections to lobotomies, they would always refuse a step in the procedure because of their “Quincy Pride” and make things difficult. Burning the children, poking and prodding them into mush, even simple mutilation --- it didn’t matter what I did to complete my research, they resisted to the end out of idiotic pride.” Mayuri reached into his robe and pulled out a handful of pictures showing some of the deceased, tossing them at Uryu. The young Quincy’s eyes widened when he saw the nearly unrecognizable corpse of his grandfather, Soken. “One of them liked to go on and on about an apprentice, though they never spoke about who they were. Negligible information, for sure.

As Mayuri went on about his horrific experiments on the Quincy, his eyes became fixated on Uryu’s pierced leg. Black veins had begun to climb the jagged prongs of his Zanpakuto like jungle vines while the profuse bleeding ceased completely. He immediately pulled the blade from Uryu’s leg while taking a few steps back and saw the slow, progressive movement of the young Ishida’s limbs. At first, his posture was crooked and his breaths ragged, as Mayuri expected of the infected. But in just moments, the purple flecks in Uryu’s eyes became radiant beacons of amethyst and his breathing became still, nearly silent.

“Uryu. Uryu Ishida. That was the name….of that man’s apprentice. He stands before you, fully prepared to avenge the blood of his people.” He calmly pushed his glasses up along the bridge of his nose, creating a luminous purple glare through the lenses. His Reishi started to build with the texture of a dense mist, flowing up from his tensed body.

“Fascinating! Not only has the gradual effect of the Nether been activated without the prerequisite of death but your emotional response has pushed your body’s reaction well beyond anything I’ve been able to observe. Also, it seems as though your growing emotional instability accelerates the plague’s gestation period with the rapid production of adrenaline and cortisol.” The golden prongs of Mayuri’s Zanpakuto glowed with the radiance of kido, producing a small aura around his body. “One’s anomalous evolution is another’s annoyance, in this case. You may be stubborn enough to move but certainly not enough to---”

“Shut. Up.” A purple Heilig Pfiel was fired at point-blank range in Mayuri’s face. The captain had enough instinct to save his head but one of his mechanical ears was sheared from his skull while the corrupted arrow whistled down the throughway. The close call continued to repeat itself in near-succession with Uryu repeatedly firing off arrows for Mayuri to dodge. Uryu’s dogged pursuit and increasingly violent tone created an air of anxiety for the crafty scientist. Enough for Uryu to take notice. “You were so talkative before,  _ Captain Kurotsuchi _ . So  _ brazen _ !  _ Why are you running from your retribution?! The reward for genocide?! LOOK IN THE EYES OF YOUR RECKONING AND SEE THE FACES OF THOSE YOU MURDERED!” _

Most of the surrounding buildings were scarred by Uryu’s arrows and the failed slashes of Mayuri’s light kido-infused Zanpakuto. Before the sweat could get a chance to run from his brow, Mayuri’s toothy grin spread again while he pointed the tip of his sword at Uryu, eyes wide open. “Hmph! If you’re so eager to die, I’ll end this experiment right now.  **_Bankai._ ** ”

Initially, the summoning of a massive chimeric caterpillar, with the golden upper body of an infant, drew Uryu from his aggressive daze. But even he found he couldn’t focus on much of anything but revenge as the Nether continued to pulse through his body. His emotions furthered the infection to such a degree that he could barely respond, wanting instead to shout and demonize whoever he laid eyes upon. In response to Mayuri’s release, Uryu broke off the metal prong sticking out from the wrist of his ceremonial Senrei Glove. The glove unraveled into vanishing threads upon the activation of Quincy: Letzt Stil and produced a monstrous pillar of black vapor around Uryu that touched the skies. “ _ I’m sorry...grandfather….but I have to make sure I kill him. THAT NOTHING REMAINS!” _

Mayuri was captivated by the gale-force winds whipping around Uryu’s body but even more so by the fact that the remnants of the surrounding buildings were being completely absorbed by him. He quickly gestured to the giant infant worm he called a Bankai and laughed when the purple fumes of his specially-designed poison started to saturate the area. “Your power might be growing exponentially, but not at a speed great enough to counter the fumes of my  _ Bankai _ . Your nerves won’t be the only things affected.”

Then, beyond the destructive haze of his black Reiatsu, through the growing purple poison creeping out of the mouth of Mayuri’s Bankai, he saw it ---- the pinpricks of light that flickered at an increasingly rapid pace. Like lightning before thunder, the decimated corridor of buildings was set alight with light-based kido. Uryu suddenly dropped to his knees as night erupted into day, blinded and crippled by the brilliance of the poison cloud. Worse still, the weakening effects the light had on Uryu’s infected body allowed for Mayuri’s poison to work its way through his system. While Uryu hacked black blood up from his lungs, clinging to any breath he could snatch, Mayuri lorded over him wearing a pair of sunglasses.

“A scientist always comes prepared to contain a subject, whether in the course of recovering material or in the process of experimentation. Each of those pretty little specks of light is producing over  _ one-hundred thousand lumens _ which, going off of your crippling reaction, is more than enough to account for your otherwise undocumented surge in power. As I said before, my mention of researching the Nether isn’t to be ignored. Then again, you Quincy were foolish enough to be picked off like insects.” Mayuri raised his Zanpakuto, now in a sealed state with a crimson aura flowing around its steel, and aimed it at Uryu’s kneeling, shivering body. “Eat him, Ashisogi Jizo. Kekekekekeke!”

The chimeric infant worm cried out with the lungs of a baby as it crawled at a terrifying pace toward Uryu, its mouth opening three times as wide as one would expect. In those few seconds that separated the young Ishida from a gruesome death, an unexpected surge of Nether flared out from his body to flay the first few layers of yellow flesh from Ashisogi Jizo’s face. Skeletal pockets were revealed as it screamed in pain and bucked its upper body in the air in frustration, chubby hands trying to rub the necrotic material off its face. Another much stronger pulse of Nether flowed out from Uryu’s body to effectively flush out the luminescent poison from the immediate area, forcing Mayuri to flee from its radius with a heart on fire. 

“ _ MAAAYUUUURRIIIIIII _ !” Uryu’s voice had lowered a few octaves and was raw with grit, bordering on inhuman when it came to his deafening shout. A skeletal wing formed from his black Reishi re-emerged from one side of his back while he pulled back on his bow and stood to his feet. Though Mayuri didn’t have a clear view of what he was doing, more preoccupied with the Nether starting to fill the area, he could feel the imminent impact of Uryu’s vicious release. A flash of sound filled Mayuri’s remaining ear --- raucous, loud, brutal --- before the utter destruction of Ashisogi Jizo registered. He accounted for the blood dripping from the handful of teeth that remained, as well as the one-fourth remnant of his body that was missing everything beneath a part of his chest and blade-wielding arm. But he still refused to believe it.

“Goddamn  _ Quincy _ !” Mayuri raised his own blade to his throat but was surprised to see Uryu standing over him with a purple Heilig Pfiel already pulled back and aimed at his head. 

“ _ No. You die by  _ **_my_ ** _ hand.” _ Uryu’s purple glare locked onto Mayuri’s gaze, the latter’s being filled with anger and frustration. 

“Master Mayuri!” Nemu’s hand grabbed the Heilig Pfiel from Uryu’s bow and tackled him to the ground, doing her best to pin him down. “Don’t shoot him! Don’t kill master Mayuri!”

Without delay, Mayuri stabbed himself with his Zanpakuto and liquefied into a thick green ooze, quickly slithering into the cracks of the only remaining building in the immediate area. By the time Uryu knocked Nemu off of him and readied his bow, he could only catch a glimpse of slime before it all but vanished. As both mists of poison and Nether cleared, Uryu frothed in rage. An bestial scream belted out in the rather silent aftermath of his fight with Mayuri and the young Ishida turned his full attention to Nemu, who was still profusely bleeding in her crawl away from him. He slammed a heel in her back and readied his bow for a headshot, absolutely seething. “ _ YOU PROTECTED HIM, THAT MURDERER! DER METZGER!” _

“I...I couldn’t let you. He created me. I owe Master Mayuri...my life…” Nemu squirmed underfoot, struggling to try and look back and establish eye contact. 

“ _ WHAT?!”  _

“Uryu! Stop!” Orihime came running back to him, having watched the battle at a safe distance. Brazenly, she stood with both feet on either side of Nemu’s injured body and blocked the path for Uryu’s arrow. “She’s badly injured and she obviously can’t fight anymore. Please…”

“ _ Get out of the WAY, ORIHIME! She let that murderer escape!”  _ Uryu’s posture, though stiff, began to quake from Orihime’s insistence and a flux of emotion started to overtake him. 

“But  _ she _ isn’t a murderer! Uryu, it’s this plague! You’re not thinking clearly!” Orihime watched Uryu struggle on his decision to fire his arrow, ultimately flinching when he launched it at the wall behind them. As the rubble blew through her hair and harshly caressed her back, her eyes started to glaze over when Uryu pulled back another purple arrow. “Uryu, please stop! Get a hold of yourself! Don’t let this thing win!”

“ _ Get AWAY from me, ORIHIME! If this plague is going to take me, I’m at least taking that killer’s assistant WITH me!”  _ Hands trembled as he tried to aim around Orihime, only to have her body sway, dip and swerve to match his aim. 

“If you want to kill someone as helpless as this, then you’ll have to kill me too.” Orihime’s words pushed through a veil of pain and, although her voice trembled, her body remained firm in her defense of Nemu. 

“ _ O-ORIHIME! I...CAN’T…” _ In the midst of his fight against the relentless urges of the Nether, Uryu’s fingers pulled away from the bow and released the arrow. Time seemed to slow down for Orihime and Uryu as they looked at one another, the purple glare of the arrow highlighting the sorrow in their decisions. Orihime’s arms remained outstretched and her eyes shut tight as she prepared to sacrifice herself. But instead of being obliterated by Uryu’s misfire, she felt a calming force overwhelm her body, one that launched Uryu into a dense pile of rubble opposite her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Uryu sprawled in the rubble with the black Reishi leaving his body.

“Uryu, Uryu! Are you okay?!” Orihime rushed over to Uryu and noticed that his eyes no longer held that furious purple hue, nor did his demeanor reflect that of a killer. Rather, she saw the curious, almost frightened expression of her Quincy acquaintance as he stared up at her. Cyan energy flowed around Orihime’s body to brighten the area and reflect off of Uryu’s glasses.

“That energy...not normal...Reishi….” While Uryu struggled to make sense of the energy flowing off of Orihime, the latter stared at him quizzically with eyes of Aether.

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 11 End_ **


	12. Patience

_ "The heart and soul are closely linked. Your heart reveals what is most precious to you." _

  
  


  * Yoruichi Shihouin



  
  


**That Same Evening**

Ichigo awakened with beads of sweat across his brow and peered around a dark room that was dimly lit by slivers of moonlight. He sat up on the floor mat, partially bandaged and knew without looking that he was already mostly healed. He also knew better than to speak out due to the familiar yet strong Reiatsu that filled the area. Through the dark, his brown eyes darted about trying to locate its source and soon settled on the black cat, Yoruichi, trotting into the light. “Glad you didn’t hurt yourself waking up again. Unlike last time, I didn’t need to apply too many bandages.”

Ichigo squinted at the black cat before taking a slow look around the room, confused. “I thought Urahara was just joking about the bandages. How...how are you able to bandage  _ anyone _ , let alone  _ me _ ? Wait! The last thing I remember, I was...fighting with Captain Zaraki, that crazy bastard. How did you bring me here? You’re just  _ a cat _ !”

“Ah! I keep forgetting that you’ve only seen my feline form. It’s much more comfortable than my true form but I guess there’s no point in keeping you in the dark anymore. One minute.” A thick smoke poured from Yoruichi’s mouth and swirled around their furry body until it crafted a puffy pillar tall enough to reach the ceiling. A fluctuation of Reiatsu was felt by the teenage Shinigami with his eyes starting to widen. As the small creature morphed into a humanoid silhouette with briefly glowing eyes, he had thoughts of Sinister in the darkness of the cemetery forest staring him down. Images of the coach from his school peeking through the shadows of the night before lunging at him were starting to put him on edge and his paranoia rose with every new feature revealed. In fact, one of Ichigo’s hands was already idly dragging along the floor in search of his Zanpakuto.

But when the smoke cleared up, Ichigo’s face went completely red. The black fuzzy coat was replaced by smooth, chestnut-colored skin, the tail vanished in place of a supple, bubbly backside and feline eyes were exchanged for two eyes of amber that stared down at Ichigo. Yoruichi slowly brought her slender arms to rest beneath a pliable pair of breasts with darkened nipples hardened to a point. Thick purple tresses draped down her back and along the sides of her face as Yoruichi’s plush lips divided to show her amused grin. “Still with me here, Ichigo? Having trouble figuring out where your focus is.”

“Y-y-y-you’re...YOU’RE…” Ichigo could barely get his words out while Yoruichi laughed. Though, even in the midst of his flustered disposition, there was a noticeable pang of arousal that he couldn’t seem to control. The same hand that had been searching for his Zanpakuto was now struggling not to reach for Yoruichi. A train of thought came racing through his mind while Yoruichi came to squat down beside his mat, his heart beating twice as fast. “C-can….you...cl-c-clothes….!”

“No need for clothes when I rescued you. I was in my feline form, remember?” Yoruichi unveiled a skeletal beige wand topped with a birdlike skull while her expression became a bit less playful in her explanation. “This is a Bone Glider. You just channel your Reiryoku into it, it latches on and lets you fly for long-distances. Always thought it looked a bit odd. Don’t you think?”

Ichigo’s complexion had changed once more from a light pink to a deeper shade of red as he tripped over his words. His mind continuously wiped the slate of anything he wanted to say and was instead flooded with an onslaught of darker desires. His eyes were drawn to his hand that pulled itself from the ground and gradually reached for Yoruichi’s chest, as if controlled by a completely different entity. Sweat dripped from his temples in the midst of his struggle to control his urges but they were being goaded by the Nether coursing through his veins. Yoruichi, on the other hand, had her focus averted from the Bone Glider to a different type of wand.

“Hahahahahaha! And here I thought this couldn’t get more amusing! Oh, Ichigo, I’m not sure this is the right time for such an...informal style of courting.” Yoruichi poked and prodded at the throbbing bulge that was rising beneath his Shinigami robes before taking hold of Ichigo’s struggling hand. She encouraged his anxiety-riddled breast grab before leaning in closer to his face with half-lidded eyes and a sly grin. “But it’s very good to see that you’re alive and well. Urahara did say that you were resilient. Strong-willed.  _ Powerful _ .”

The moment Ichigo’s fingers sank into her chest, the throbbing beneath his robes intensified and his eyes started to glisten with small flecks of purple. The logic behind his thoughts became purely carnal with breaths turning ragged, almost bestial. The shift in his Reiatsu came most clearly when Yoruichi’s hand slowly wrapped around Ichigo’s growing bulge. Any sense of control he thought he had was being taken from him, relinquished by a body that was becoming something much more than human. Just moments from him leaping up to embrace his primal desires, his breaths were practically begging for it all to stop, one way or another.

“He also mentioned that you’re  _ still  _ infected, so this is as much teasing as I’ll indulge. Now, time to snap out of it, Ichigo!” The flash goddess wrenched Ichigo’s bulge in a vice grip that made the teenager emit a loud, high-pitched yelp. All color flushed from Ichigo’s face as he started to roll around on the floor with both hands clutching his privates, trying to scrunch up the black robe around the injury. Yoruichi walked over to one corner of the room to dress in her usual ninja-like outfit of beige, black, and orange, tying her hair into a flowing ponytail. “Besides, you’re not out of the woods yet. If you want to save Rukia, you’ll have to focus now more than ever.”

“MNNGGFHHHHnnnnnn!....I...was gonna ask th...ch..u...putsm...clothes...o-onnn….GAH!” Ichigo regained his composure after a minute of rolling around and cursing to himself, standing to his feet to adjust his robe. “Hnn..ugh...where’s Hanataro? And Genju?”

“Hanataro is fine but….” Yoruichi paused in the midst of adjusting her overshirt. She let her hands drop while she turned to face Ichigo with a solemn expression. “Ganju is dead.”

“WHAT?! What happened?! Was it that little girl that was with Kenpachi? No...it couldn’t be…” Ichigo racked his brain with head scratching and darting eyes. 

“ _ I _ killed him, Ichigo. Reluctantly.” Yoruichi turned from him with crossed arms. “When I arrived, Ganju was fully infected with Nether. He tried to go after Zaraki’s lieutenant, Yachiru, but she took her captain and left. Once that happened, Ganju turned on Hanataro. Given the situation, I had no choice but to eliminate him.”

“Eliminate him? You  _ murdered _ him and didn’t even think to  _ help _ him?!” Ichigo’s arousal had sharply changed to outrage toward Yoruichi. He turned from her to find his Zanpakuto and affixed it to his back.

“You forget, Ichigo, this plague is extremely dangerous. Every Shinigami has been given orders from the top down to destroy any carrier of the Nether. Even if I let him wander, someone else would have killed him with no desire to speak of his fate after the fact.” Yoruichi sighed while tightening the thin rope around her wristbands.

“Does that include me?” Ichigo stared down Yoruichi with small flecks of purple still blending into his hazel eyes. 

“What?” Yoruichi shot back a similar stare, eyebrows arching and eyes squinting.

“You know damn well  _ what _ .” The tense staredown continued for some time before they both sensed an intense Reiatsu nearby. 

“That Reiatsu...the Shinshiro…” Yoruichi watched Ichigo snatch up the Bone Glider and run to the exit. “Ichigo, stop! That’s Captain Kuchiki’s Reiatsu!”

“I know. We’ve met.” Ichigo launched his foot through the wooden planks of the entry door, revealing a sudden beam of moonlight and a gust of fresh air. “If Hanataro is still alive, he’ll be heading there to save Rukia. Without Ganju to even offer a distraction, he’ll be killed once he realizes Hanataro defected.”

A strong surge of Ichigo’s Reiryoku flowed through the Bone Glider, having a thick tentacle lash out to cinch around Ichigo’s torso. A large wing sprang out from the glider, propelling Ichigo out of the hideout and into the moonlit sky.

  
  


💀💀💀

  
  


“P-please, Captain Kuchiki! I don’t know where Ichigo is!” Hanataro’s body was pinned down beside Rukia’s on the bridge connected to her prison cell, struggling beneath the exertion of Byakuya’s Reiatsu. Rukia, clothed in a simple white robe and struggling to maintain consciousness, could only just barely peer up at the stoic expression of her brother.

“It was reported that you were traveling with a rather ugly man and Ichigo some time earlier. Given the fact that you are of the Advanced Relief Team with no fighting ability to speak of, one would have to humor the logic of the deranged to believe that you eliminated them or left their company willingly. Now, I will ask again before your spine is compressed.” The air glitched with static, blurring erratically from the push of Reiatsu Byakuya enacted on the two. “Where is Ichigo Kurosaki and the man who took you?”

Byakuya felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, along with a squeeze that, although gentle, carried the weight of a higher authority. That alone forced him to pull back the pressure of his Reiatsu and turn to see Captain Jushiro Ukitake smiling at him. “More flies with honey, Captain Kuchiki. You keep it up and poor Hanataro is going to turn to mush!”

“Ahhh...ah...I think I’m already there…” Hanataro whimpered out before groaning from muscle pain, squirming on the bridge. 

“C-captain Ukitake!” Rukia called out and found the strength to get to her knees.

“Hey, Rukia! Looking a little worn out there, I see. Hope you haven’t been too distressed!” Before Rukia could answer, the entire area was saturated with captain-level Reiatsu and put both Byakuya and Jushiro on high alert. From beneath the bridge, Ichigo emerged from his speedy flight and snapped the Bone Glider shut to land with his back facing Rukia. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Ichigo was already unraveling his sword and staring down both captains. “Byakuya...who is this? I feel like I’ve been pretty out of the loop.”

“This is the infected Ryoka I briefly encountered in my efforts to return Rukia to the Soul Society. He is also the primary reason the Nether Plague has been exacerbated to the level it has. In other words, the person standing in front of us may very well be the source of the massacre happening in the Rukongai.” Byakuya rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “And, per Captain-Commander Yamamoto’s orders, you are to be  _ executed _ . But, unlike Rukia, you are unworthy of falling before anything greater than my blade. Even then, you should be grateful I am willing to dispose of you with my own hands.”

“Ichigo...why...why did you come?” Rukia spoke out in a hushed tone, partially to herself and partially to Ichigo. She stood to her feet but used the crimson bridge railing for support.

“I came to save you, Rukia. I refuse to let them kill you.” Ichigo lowered the massive blade of his sword in front of him and aimed the tip at Byakuya before speaking to Jushiro. “That your lieutenant, Byakuya? Or is it the other way around? He can join in if he wants to.”

“I will never fathom how you are able to lace every word that comes from your lips with such audacious disrespect.” Byakuya drew his sword and calmly let it rest at his side. “Did I not just say that  _ I _ will be the one to dispose of you?  _ One _ captain is more than enough.”

Jushiro started to wave his arms with nervous laughter. “Hahaha, oh no no! Don’t mind me, I just came to check on Rukia! I am confident this all will be resolved without too much incident.”

“Ichigo, you need to get out of here. He almost  _ killed _ you last time!” Rukia’s strength was returning, as was her insistence on Ichigo’s safety.

“I told you, I’m not leaving until you’re  _ safe _ , Rukia!” Ichigo’s shouting cleared the air as he turned about to face her with a firm expression. Beyond those purple flecks of infection, Rukia saw reflections of an honest soul. She saw the likeness of Kaien Shiba. “I don’t care about some plague or whatever systems are at play here.  _ No one _ deserves to die like this,  _ especially _ by their own kind. You did nothing wrong. Stay back. I’ll make sure I don’t kill your brother.”

However, Ichigo and Byakuya’s skirmish was a short one. Blades clashed briefly in a series of blocks and attempted counterattacks by Ichigo, albeit much less impressive than those in his fight against Zaraki. Byakuya’s stoic expression broke only twice --- when Ichigo managed to block his opening blow and when he saw that he could keep up with his impressive level of Shunpo. In mere minutes, they found themselves back at their original positions with steady breaths and similar stares. Byakuya raised his sword in front of his face in a familiar fashion, causing Rukia to gasp and Ichigo to steel himself against what was to come. But before the captain could activate his Shikai, Byakyua stared in stunned silence at Ichigo’s body experiencing some sort of seizure. 

Ichigo’s arms, legs and torso seized up in a series of violent twitches before his head lurched forward with a single string of saliva lazily hanging from his lower lip. Upon closer inspection, it was Yoruichi giving his pressure points a workover. Her palm pulled from Ichigo’s gut as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. She lifted his unconscious body up over her shoulders while looking at Byakuya and Jushiro. “He’s not yours to kill, Little Byakuya.”

“And this isn’t your assignment,  _ former _ Commander of the Onmitsukido, Yoruichi Shihouin. You have no jurisdiction here. Drop the boy.” Byakuya’s Zanpakuto started to glow pink but Yoruichi soon appeared atop his head, balancing on one foot with the other pushing his sword down.

“You should really only order around those who can keep your eye on, Little Byakuya.” Once Byakuya turned about to try and face Yoruichi, she was already standing atop the roof of an adjacent building. “You forgot my title  _ Goddess of Flash _ . Maybe this will remind you next time we meet.” 

Byakuya lamented as Yoruichi vanished before his eyes and sheathed his Zanpakuto. He walked away from Jushiro, Hanataro and Rukia, much to his fellow captain’s surprise. “H-hey! Captain Kuchiki! Where are you going?”

“I am done with this foolishness.” Byakuya vanished from sight, leaving Jushiro to sigh at his stubbornness.

Jushiro’s focus then shifted to Hanataro and Rukia, gesturing for the former to get up off the ground. “Are you two alright?”

“Y-yeah! I think I can feel my legs again, a little bit. K-kinda.” Hanataro pulled himself up from the red railing and slumped over the edge with an exaggerated sigh. “Man, Captain Kuchiki can sure be demanding.”

“I’m...alright, Captain Ukitake.” Though Rukia’s expression betrayed her words.

“I’ll make sure you both are brought back to a safe place while everything is figured out.” Jushiro called for two guards who had followed him, both appearing at the tail end of his utterance with an astonishing amount of obedience. “Oh, man. You two really do stick as close as a shadow. Take Rukia back to her cell and Hanataro to a safe holding area. Make sure no one else gets inside.”

“Wh-you’re not gonna kill us?” Hanataro’s inquiry inched out from quivering lips.

“Why would I do something like that? Neither of you are infected, as far as I can tell. Also, besides the rash of outbreaks happening, we’re investigating the….rather mysterious death of Captain Aizen. Right now, anyone could be involved, especially the Ryoka. Until that investigation has been concluded, we want to keep all avenues of information open.” Jushiro started to walk away while the two Shinigami guards moved to grab Hanataro and Rukia. “My mercy is perfectly in line with my duty. I would rather leave you with a blessing than with bloodshed.”

  
  


💀💀💀

  
  


Ichigo awoke dazed and confused but mostly upset. His blurred vision soon focused on Yoruichi leaning against the wall of the hidden study room they were in before, this time fully clothed. He stood up rather quickly, already expressing his anger to her. “I’m getting pretty sick of losing consciousness.”

“I wonder if you would have regained it faster if I was naked.” Yoruichi flashed a half-smile, hoping that Ichigo’s youthful blush would run across his face again. But instead, she witnessed the rapid approach of someone brimming with anger. Ichigo’s hands dug into her ninja garb and pinned her against the wall. His face screamed but his voice was soft.

“Why didn’t you save her? We were  _ right THERE. _ ” Though Ichigo’s hands were trembling, his anger was certain and he used that anger to keep his body from collapsing under his feeling of failure. There was a glaze over his purple-flecked eyes, pleading not for Yoruichi to do something but to answer. But her actions spoke first, raucous and loud in the form of a few well-placed strikes that Ichigo wished he could have perceived. They were barely wisps of wind, a brief change in air current that left no sound and thick weight in his gut. His body was pushed away, forced to watch hers leaning against the wall as he fell on his back.

“Rukia and Hanataro will be okay, Ichigo. Captain Ukitake, the captain with the white hair --- he’ll ensure they’re imprisoned but nothing more. That buys us time.” Yoruichi crossed her arms under her bust with lips gently shaped into a condescending pout. “Besides, you had no chance of defeating Byakuya, not even with your recovery. I, personally, would rather play things smart. You’ll have to learn patience, Ichigo. Don’t let your resolve become restlessness.”

Ichigo grunted on his way back to his feet, still wearing an expression of angst. “Time for what? I’ve got enough rest.”

“But not enough training. If you want to move forward and save Rukia, you’ll need to achieve Bankai.” Yoruichi turned away from Ichigo briefly, as if trying to summon the strength to believe her own words. “And you’ll have to achieve it in three days.”

Ichigo watched Yoruichi walk past him with her arms still clutched against her chest. Her face was occupied with thought but she broke free just long enough to gesture for him to follow through the entryway Ichigo broke earlier. She leapt out into a wide expanse of barren earth and rocks surrounded by a lush, mottled ring of greenery. The study chamber within Sokyoku Hill mirrored a wasteland that was briefly touched by paradise. It was in the cavernous partition, beyond the walls of flora, that both Yoruichi and Ichigo ended up standing.

“This...Bankai. What is it?” Ichigo’s face started to relax from its angered contortion, settling for a stoic stare instead. It was submission disguised as apathy.

“It’s the true form of a Zanpakuto. Every Zanpakuto has two transformative states, Shikai and Bankai. They are a first release and a second release, respectfully. Both you and Captain Zaraki have what we call constant-release type Zanpakuto. In other words, both of your Zanpakuto are already in their Shikai state because of your levels of strength and the inability to contain it.” Yoruichi flipped her purple ponytail from her shoulder to trail down her back, staring at Ichigo with a gravity he hadn’t yet seen before. “All captains are required to master both Shikai and Bankai. Captain Zaraki is the only exception because of his overwhelming strength, something you’ve seen firsthand. But not every fight you have will be graced with luck and you can’t rely on Zangetsu saving you at the last minute. With some captains, you’ll be lucky if you get  _ seconds _ . You have to be ready to win at the beginning. You  _ must  _ be prepared, Ichigo.”

Ichigo pulled Zangetsu from his back while Yoruichi displayed a two-dimensional mannequin, the Tenshintai. “Training dummy?”

Any faint hope for joviality was dashed away the moment silence replaced his inquiry. Yoruichi’s hand rested against the mannequin’s shoulder, trailing along the thin bands that lazily stretched across its body. “Ordinarily, achieving Bankai takes ten years. Ordinarily, training you with this method would be...difficult, at best. But with the way the Nether has taken hold of you, this is going to be very dangerous. Rest assured that this is your best chance at rescuing Rukia but you will have to prove yourself to your Zanpakuto. And whatever comes with it. This mannequin will materialize your Zanpakuto’s spirit.”

Ichigo felt a chill brush across the nape of his neck as he digested her words. When his eyes fell upon the Tenshintai, flashes of the malevolent shadow came into view. He could hear its jagged, static voice that marred every other word. Although Yoruichi was explaining how he had to stab the Tenshintai to activate it and how dangerous it could be if they push the time limit, Ichigo only heard that shadow. He heard the whirling gale of its twisting sword whipping through the air and clashing against steel. His muscles tensed from the vibrant memories of each impact, unable to focus on much else. He jerked himself out of the daydream, believing the momentary delirium that he was going to be impaled if he didn’t. “ Why didn’t you kill me?”

Yoruichi paused and put on a puzzled face, half-hoping that he wasn’t as serious as he sounded. Hoping that it was just another gesture of curiosity in the midst of the madness he had to endure. But it wasn’t. She could look in those hazel eyes and watch fragments of purple slowly swim around pupils that shot daggers. Consequently, his gaze gave permission for Yoruichi to display her own displeasure, devoid of her sultry smarm or instructive tones. “We are in the business of saving souls, not destroying them. Despite what you may think about the Gotei 13 and the Soul Society, we are not a bunch of wild animals who believe that only the strong should survive. There are some captains that follow the Captain-Commander’s orders without question. Some for the sake of duty and some because it lines up with their personal beliefs. There are also some who would rather  _ save _ any person with eyes like yours, some who think that mindlessly butchering those who find sanctuary in this spirit world is  _ sickening _ . We fight for a balance, not for a culling. I help you because I care about your life and the lives of those who will be lost if you keep harping on why I would rather stand over you buck naked rather than snap your neck while you sleep. I’m not a murderer --- I’m the best chance you’ve  _ got _ right now, so if we’re  _ done _ with that line of questioning, pick  _ up _ your sword and  _ pierce _ the Tenshintai.”

Ichigo swallowed, feeling every word peck at his body like the accusatory jab of a finger. But these words went deeper like the cooling heat of menthol that radiated across the skin and through muscle. He didn’t need to sense the Reiatsu that flared from her body and he didn’t need to look any further into those eyes that cut. Those words were enough, for both of them. Swallowing hard, Ichigo raised his sword, impaled the doll and bore witness to Zangetsu.

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 12 End_ **


	13. Voices of a Broken Reflection

_ "Abandon your fear. Look forward. Move forward and never stop. You'll age if you pull back. You'll die if you hesitate." _

  
  


  * Quincy Zangetsu



  
  
  


Ichigo’s tight grip on the hilt of his sword clasped into a fist as the blade vanished from sight. A plume of white smoke preceded the view of the person he would come to call Old Man Zangetsu. He stared at Ichigo through those tinted, wraparound sunglasses while his ragged black and brown hair flowed with an odd, mystical sentience. That wavy hair brushed idly along stubble as he stared down Ichigo, letting Yoruichi step off to the side. “Let’s begin.”

Zangetsu knelt down to press his hand against the earth, summoning a plethora of swords of different shapes and sizes to surround them. But Ichigo’s eyes were transfixed on the figure standing further away and just behind Zangetsu. Even with marred flesh instead of static and eyes that gleamed with malice, Ichigo knew it was the evil from his inner world. Though its mouth was replaced with a plane of skin, he could tell it was smiling. This time, it held no blade and paced around the soon-to-be battlefield with slow, shuffling steps. Yoruichi snapped her fingers at Ichigo. “Hey! Don’t focus on it. That’s what it wants. Tend to your training. I assure you, it won’t interfere.”

“Achieving Bankai is about more than gaining power, Ichigo. It is about the union of Shinigami and Zanpakuto; It will allow us to fight against the darkness within more effectively and, hopefully, expunge it. This plague yearns to overtake you and force you to go against your better judgement. It is not a warrior and its goal can barely be called one of survival. It is a disease of destruction, rotting all sense of morality and sanity until only wrath remains. What happens during this training will decide if you are a man or a beast.” Ichigo blinked rapidly and drew his attention back to Zangetsu, who was already wielding one of the many swords that jutted from the ground. With his attention renewed, he could finally pick up on what Zangetsu was saying. “Only one of these hundreds of swords can defeat me. Every wrong one you decide to wield will shatter and catalyze the plague. You must remember not to focus on the flesh but on the soul that drives it. You must find the one thing that drives you, above all else, and wield it with confidence.”

Taken aback by the information, Ichigo tried to take a moment to look over the sword surrounding him only to be rushed by Zangetsu. His hand reached out to his side to grab the nearest blade and clashed against the blinding fury of Zangetsu’s steel. But the exchange was nowhere near even. Ichigo’s blade shattered like glass from the first impact and his body was sent skidding across the ground with small pieces of metal shrapnel digging into his body. He didn’t have time to pick at the wounds. Zangetsu was on him again, bringing the edge of his sword down toward his head.

Ichigo rolled off to the side and snatched up a jagged katana to swing at Zangetsu. Though it held up better than his previous choice, he felt the blade wobble and waver in the midst of his struggle. As he watched it bend back against him, its edge winding back to aim at his neck, he pushed against Zangetsu prior to dropping the sword. He heard it shatter while unsheathing yet another one from the ground but was shocked to see that half of the blade was red hot, as if it were in the early process of smithing. It had no edge and was malformed like a club but Ichigo swung it at Zangetsu anyway. Unsurprisingly, Zangetsu’s sword cleaved through the unrefined sword like butter and slashed Ichigo’s chest.

It was that splash of blood that coated the ground before him, making a crude line in the sand, that forced both of them to pause. Every breath Ichigo took ground the sword fragments deeper into his flesh and a constellation of pain ran across his body. Zangetsu brought his sword down, listening to the blood drip from his wielder. “Insecurity, doubt, impatience --- the swords you have chosen so far reflect the negativity that has been amplified by the plague. Each sword you see scattered around you, except one, is reflective of the emotions that the darkness exploits. Each time you pick the wrong sword, that darkness grows stronger. If you don’t find the sword that saves you, mine will be the one that ends you.”

“Wh-what?!” Ichigo craned his neck to look over at Yoruichi, one eye clenched shut with metal fragments hanging off his temple. “You sure this is training? Or was this all just a trap? Some convoluted way to kill me?”

No words from Yoruichi’s mouth could quell Ichigo’s growing distrust and paranoia; she was beginning to think that the plague’s presence was only exacerbating it. Besides, her face was the best response. It was solid, beauty adhered to a stoic gaze and lips sealed shut. But behind her statuesque stance, frozen and stubborn, that golem of flesh continued to shuffle. Its bare feet scraped against rock and dirt while its eyes darted from Yoruichi to Ichigo, widening its gaze the moment he made eye contact. The patch of skin beneath its nose started to undulate with the fervent energy of an insect hive. Lumps pushed and slid beneath the surface quickly, a bubbling sensation that became much more disturbing once he stopped his shuffle. 

At that moment, Ichigo’s suspicions about Yoruichi and Zangetsu were frozen just like his teeth, stuck in a grimace of disbelief. His eyes widened to match his ghastly doppelganger as he saw that patch of skin divide into a jagged, bloody semicircle. Thick bands of skin that initially refused to split soon lengthened into thin bands of white red and brown, snapping like old rubber bands. First came the gaping blackness, then the two rows of teeth that snapped together in a mocking imitation of Ichigo. In moments, it continued its steps around the arena and discarded its menial shuffling for actual footfalls. His eyes cleared some of the liquid clouds to show more of the malevolent shade of purple that yearned to bleed across the surface. The doppelganger was becoming less  _ it _ and more  _ him _ .

At the same time Ichigo started piecing together the true horror of this revelation, Zangetsu snapped fingers at him to bring his attention back to the training at hand. “If you fail, Ichigo, we won’t be the ones with blood on our hands. You will destroy yourself. The plague will see to that. This is life or death. You must find the strength within yourself to keep the darkness at bay and finish what you started. You have no time to kneel. You know what you must do.”

As much as that haunting image of his doppelganger’s smile tried to stick in his head, Zangetsu’s voice was much louder, much more important. Ichigo stood to his feet and picked off some of the shrapnel before slapping his hand on the nearest impaled sword. His eyes locked onto Zangetsu’s with the same expression of resolve he had given Renji, committed to the end. “You’re right. Let’s keep going.”

In the few hours that passed, Ichigo’s determination wasn’t strong enough to completely eradicate the fear that gnawed at the back of his mind. But it helped. With each new sword revealed came a strengthening of will and, in turn, more time with a whole sword to battle back with. The shattering went from an instant sense of loss to an expected transition in just five minutes of weathering the steel. Though Ichigo was far from actually defeating his Zanpakuto, the frightening speed of his adaptation, the development of on-the-fly counterattacks and indifference to pain, was progress Yoruichi examined with a fearful joy. By sundown, the doppelganger was the furthest thing from Ichigo’s mind.

He heard it move, could see the striations beginning to form and define the bland molding of flesh that made up its body. But he couldn’t pay it any mind, had to starve it of his attention and feed any he could muster to the cloaked mentor that wanted his help in evicting that darkness. When the pre-established five minute mark was reached without the breaking of the newest sword Ichigo pulled, optimism started to melt the anxious feeling Yoruichi tried to suppress ever since Zangetsu came to the outer world. But one detail quickly reeled it back, rapidly striking the middle of her chest and rattling her gut with apprehension. It was the sword in the gulf, the dry bowl of dirt that shored near a strip of verdant green.

There was nothing out of place about it, nothing more abnormal than the other differently-shaped swords that still partially covered the battlefield. But, perceptually, it was dreadful. Every moment her eyes settled on it, her body tensed with worry. The sword gleamed, as if looking back at her, and inflamed her fight and flight instincts with teasing prods. But she had felt this emotion before, this creeping shadow that tensed muscles and made the blood run hot. It wasn’t fear or anxiety, not after a few minutes of focusing. It was anger, a bubbling wrath that Ichigo was gravitating toward with every broken sword. Her eyes looked up from the sword and over to Ichigo parrying Zangetsu’s blade with his own, which was shaped like a scimitar. Then, they looked over to his doppelganger, to the makeshift mouth that mouthed three words during its repetitive stroll. “Pick. It. Up.”

The next clash shattered Ichigo’s sword and Yoruichi was quick to break her silence before he could circle back around into the aura of temptation. “Ichigo! That’s enough!”

“Huh?” Ichigo snapped to look at Yoruichi before looking back at Zangetsu, who had become the training dummy once again. It flopped to hit the ground with a hollow wobble, only deepening Ichigo’s confusion. His rapid blinks and ignorant head scratching provoked a bit of laughter from Yoruichi.

“Put the sword down, Ichigo. We’ll end the first day of training here.”

  
  


💀💀💀

  
  


“I could get used to this...” A Shinigami robe was neatly folded atop his slightly frayed sandals, resting just inches away from the edge of the hot spring. Ichigo’s arms were propped up on the rocky rim as his bare body sank deeper into the steaming pool of water. For the past week, he struggled to bring himself to close his eyes for more than a few seconds. Every few moments his body flinched and sloshed the water, forcing him to give the area a quick scan. Even with the soothing tides of the natural springs battering his body and the regenerative oddity his plague brought him, he couldn’t shake the unnerving sense of alertness he inherited. By now, it was engraved into his senses. 

“Doesn’t look like your body agrees.” Ichigo’s eyes opened again with Yoruichi’s voice jolting him out of another half-hearted sleep. Bits and pieces of her outfit flew over his fuzzy orange mop to hang off the opposite side of the simmering bath. As he was counting just how many layers of clothes she was removing, he stopped once her bare leg descended in front of his face. The other soon followed and, before he knew it, her shapely form, once more free of the restricting ninja garb, was settled right in his lap. “You shouldn’t be nervous, Ichigo. You’ve done well for your first day of training.”

Yoruichi wasn’t at all surprised to feel Ichigo’s shaft twitching and pressing against her backside, expertly wedged between her cheeks and his stomach. She dipped her head beneath the water and emerged with her lavish purple hair splitting off along either shoulder. Her tresses trailed down to just cover her chest while Ichigo struggled to move her without actually touching her again. Once more, his mouth writhed and twisted in a pitiful attempt to make words. Once more, his heart smashed against his chest in both urgency and the creeping sense of teenage libido. Ichigo, acting on pure instinct, tried to lift his hips to call Yoruichi’s bluff and was instantly rebutted by her back smashing against his chest. 

As Ichigo belted out a yelp of pain and embarrassment, another, much louder one got caught in his throat when Yoruichi used his body as a starting block. Ichigo was mashed against the edge of the hot spring while Yoruichi’s naked body gracefully spun to the other side of the pool, her purple locks swirling around her athletic frame. Whereas Ichigo turned away from her naked body at its first glance, here he did no such thing. The striations that divided her abs drew his eyes and he almost forgot the crushing pain in his groin after seeing another glimpse of her dark nipples grace the water’s surface. It was only when she reclined against the other end of the spring, taking the relaxed stance he once did, that he sank into the water, briefly, to scream in agony.

Yoruichi laughed at the noisy bubbled frothing up to the surface and crossed her legs, letting out a loud sigh of relief. “You know, Urahara and I used to play here everyday as children. Trained here after he joined the Gotei 13 and I joined the Omitsukido. Before it became a place for training, it was our secret playground. In fact, we were so nostalgic, we modeled the training room under his shop after it.”

Ichigo perked up after emptying his lungs of pained air, looking at her in shock as hot water dripped from his face. “Gotei 13? Wait...does that mean...Urahara…”

“Heh. You were gonna find out sooner or later, I suppose. Yes, Ichigo. Kisuke Urahara was the former captain of Squad Twelve, as well as the founder and first president of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute.” She watched his face shift from realization to realization with a bit of amusement, closing her eyes and resting the back of her neck against the crest of the spring. “Ichigo, about what you said during training….”

Ichigo settled down, leaning back against his own shelf of wet dirt. “Look, I didn’t mean to--”

“I’m sorry.” Yoruichi exhaled and opened her eyes to golden slits. “You’re young and you’ve been thrown into this endeavor with a lot of responsibility. And although we both know what’s on the line with this training, with the execution, I want you to know that this isn’t to punish you for being infected. We don’t know the extent of what this plague can do. We don’t know why others are turning into raving lunatics while you, angst aside, haven’t changed much. Whatever happens, though, I want you to be ready to face it.”

Ichigo wanted to look down and contemplate on his reflection in the hot spring but quickly turned away with a wince. A short chill ran up his spine at the thought of seeing his doppelganger looking back at him. “It’s not you. It’s...that  _ thing _ . It’s not just trying to kill me. It’s like it’s trying to  _ be _ me, to  _ replace _ me. Every time I’ve seen it, it gets one step closer. That’s what I was thinking about when I was training. I wanted to find that one sword that cuts it down and helps me overcome it. I don’t want to see that face again.”

“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to face it, Ichigo. Whatever this manifestation is, it won’t just go away.” Yoruichi’s eyes lazily drifted to the side, darting from sword to sword that was still impaled in the ground on the battlefield. “We’ll do everything we can to help but, in the end, it comes down to you.”

That thought alone forced Ichigo into silence and, for the first time in a while, a voluntary nap. 

  
  


💀💀💀

  
  


“Hrrrggyaah!” Ichigo belted out his war cries with confidence with every swing he took against Zangetsu, already a few hours into his second day of training. The time he spent with the swords grew longer and longer, five minutes becoming ten minutes, ten becoming thirty and so on. Concurrently, his technique was coming to match Zangetsu as if he were the stylish whet stone he needed to get out of the barbaric style he relied on in his fights. Yoruichi stood by, amazed as always by Ichigo’s progress and wary about the whittling number of swords that brought him ever closer to the one in the gulf. But as her eyes scanned the battlefield, her heart skipped a beat when three figures became four.

“Ahhhh, so this is where you’ve been, huh Ichigo? Tch. Such a loudmouth.” Renji walked up to Ichigo and Zangetsu as they brought their swords down to their sides. His wounds had been healed and the same cocky smile he had in the Human World was spread across his face. “Bankai training, eh? Just so happens I’m popping by to do just the same. We’ll both need to be ready since time pretty much ran out.”

“Ran out? What do you mean?” Ichigo turned away from Zangetsu and stared at Renji while the latter’s grin disappeared.

“Ah, so you don’t know. With all the crap that’s been happening recently, they’ve moved Rukia’s execution date up. It’ll be noon tomorrow.” Breaths of disbelief shot out from both Ichigo and Yoruichi while Zangetsu settled with a pensive stare. Renji himself offered a small glance to Zangetsu, then to the fleshy doppelganger of Ichigo that had stopped walking around the battleground perimeter. It was a short but intense meeting of the eyes, one that Renji confidently dismissed with a loud scoff before resuming his walk past them. “I won’t be interrupting your training as long as you and yours don’t interrupt mine.”

Ichigo looked down with a short curtain of hair shading his eyes. To Zangetsu and Yoruichi’s surprise, Ichigo snapped his dao-shaped sword in half, letting the pieces hit the dirt with a dull thunk. “Noon tomorrow.”

Yoruichi began to protest from the new information, believing Ichigo was starting to feel the same. “Ichigo, you can’t possibly achieve Bankai in such a short amount of time. Maybe we can---”

“Yeah, I can. I thought I’d have a bit more time to ease into this. I didn’t want to face it so soon but, there’s no choice now.” Ichigo lifted his head and drew his gaze to settle on the ominous sword resting in the gulf. He raced across the battlefield, much to Yoruichi’s chagrin, and gripped the sword’s hilt. Just inches above his steel grip was Yoruichi’s, staring at him with the most concerned expression he’d conveyed so far. He returned her glance with eyes devoid of fear. “This sword belongs to  _ me _ , Yoruichi.”

“You’ve felt the anger flowing through this sword just like I have. If you draw it---” Yoruichi tried to entangle Ichigo in a desperate plea disguised as another stern rant but stopped when she felt the sword rising from the dirt. The doppelganger peered along with Zangetsu and showed that thick block of pearly whites in another sadistic smile. Ichigo’s pale blue Reishi started up around his body and, with three glares against one, Yoruichi backed away in defeat. When Ichigo unveiled the sword, he was surprised to see that it was in the shape of the original Zangetsu. He gave it a clearing swing and watched the dirt skitter away to form a clear semicircle. The weight, the edge, the grip --- it was all the same.

What was different was the ease in which he wielded it. His body ran hot as he swung the sword about as if it were made of foam, whipping the air as a prelude to Zangetsu’s own cut. It was easy, far too easy. The blade became an extension of his movements, almost goading him to cut the stylish Zangetsu in half. The anger that Yoruichi felt and the anger that Ichigo felt were completely different. The former was worried that if the teenage prodigy were to pick up the sword, the Nether would take hold and make him into an unstoppable berserker. Any chances of reaching Bankai would be gone and she would be forced to snuff out hopes of him reaching his full potential.

But Ichigo was worried that the hatred that was packed into the blade would destroy him. He was terrified that everything that he had fought for, everything he hoped to protect, would look into his eyes and see the beast that devoured his soul. This was the hand-off, the tug of war that started with the roaring ignition of flame from hilt to edge. The doppelganger walked up to create a three-point diamond between Zangetsu, Ichigo and itself. It slowly extended its hand out, curling its fingers with the assumption that Ichigo wouldn’t be able to handle the sudden conflagration. Its wide smile was on full display, no strings of loose flesh and no primitive shape to its body. Besides the nudity, the hair made of skin and the flesh colored with gory streaks of red, white and black, it looked exactly like Ichigo. 

“Give. To. Me.” The doppelganger didn’t fear the flames that lapped out like the thirsty tongue of a wild hound. 

“Ichigo.” Zangetsu drew Ichigo’s attention back to him, staring beyond the fire that was slowly enveloping the teenager’s body. “Is this your sword?”

At first, the moisture in his mouth and nose was vaporized in the gluttonous flame. Any attempt to speak was diminished to the painful scrape of cracked lips and a tongue that felt like sandpaper. Some of his robes burned to cinder that trailed away in trails of ash while the rest adhered to his body, fused through skin and sinew. Though, even with his heart battering his chest and rattling his body, Ichigo held tight to the sword. Though his eyes idly scraped against his eyelids like stone on tissue, he locked his eyes open in a determined stare toward Zangetsu. 

“GIVE. TO. ME!” The doppelganger was growing impatient and clearly expected Ichigo to start an instinctive stop, drop, and roll routine, doing anything to rid himself of the inferno. But what it witnessed was just the opposite. The fire grew tall to tower over even the high cliffs Yoruichi was usually perched on, widening to a dangerous girth that threatened to overtake the entire battlefield. Yoruichi darted up to a safe distance and watched the doppelganger reach out more impatiently with the bony shelves arching where its eyebrows should have been. “GIVE. IT! GIVE. IT!”

“Ichigo!” Zangetsu drew his sword up, pointing it directly at Ichigo’s chest. The question demanded an answer. “Is this your sword?!”

In the reflective gleam of the blade, Ichigo saw the flames begin their horrific artistry --- charred hair, bloodshot eyes and lips that began to warp like clay. He knew what he was looking at,  _ who _ he was looking at but this time, he would not turn away. This time he would not bite his tongue in silence. He would scream. The embers warped from jagged towers of heat into pale blue petals of intense Reishi. Ichigo’s voice hit every corner and bend of the training room, feeling the cool burn of his own energy drowning his body in that innate willpower, that liberating resolve. Every flicker of heat showed him the events of his life that formed such a kindling, from the self-loathing the day of his mother’s death to the paranoid rage that accompanied every detour on his adventure so far. 

At the end of that lung-scraping scream came a solace. The fire shrinked into a smooth blue outline along his body while his doppelganger gurgled angrily in its steady retreat. Ichigo held his sword out with the edge opposite Old Man Zangetsu’s and his other arm clenching the wielding forearm. The doppelganger’s expletives during its scurrying departure were muddled thick like a mouth full of mud, fading away to give the calming silence its due. Ichigo’s eyes shined a brilliant silver while his lips curled into a confident smile. “It is now.”

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 13 End_ **


	14. Letter of the Law

_ "Yes, we have no destiny. Only those swallowed up by ignorance and fear who take false steps, shall plunge us into the waters called “destiny”. _

  
  


  * Kisuke Urahara



  
  
  


“ _ Ichigo! _ ” Rukia peered up to see the teenage Shinigami blocking the flaming beak of the Sokyoku halberd with his Zanpakuto. He wielded it without struggle or anxiety, keeping it in its sheathed position on his back with a hand on the handle just for good measure. The air was his platform and his eyes stared at her with an uneasy joy, a happiness he had to fight for, even in this moment. Rukia, on the other hand, fell back on duty. On her desire to keep Ichigo as far away from danger as possible. “ _ What are you doing here?! Go home! Get away from here!” _

“Wh-are you gonna give me that whole bit every time I save you?! Tch! Have some faith in me, Rukia.” Blue ropes of the ceremonial Shihoin shield ascended from the grasp of Captain Ukitake to bind the neck of the flaming halberd. It flared out in resistance before dispersing completely in a violent sputter, leaving Rukia’s view of Ichigo unobstructed. His smile and his confident stare were etched into her mind. Where there was once a sense of hopelessness, the spark of his overwhelming confidence had taken root. For the first time in a long time, Rukia’s lips dared to spread in a smile, however undeserved she felt it was. Her eyes closed tight as if unprepared for such an outpouring of hope.

Ichigo leaped onto the scaffold and balanced himself in its center before impaling it with his Zanpakuto. The torrential burst of his Reiryoku drowned out the last of Rukia’s doubts about his ability to destroy the structure and all were silenced by the young Shinigami’s display. Before Rukia knew it, her body was being cradled in one of Ichigo’s arms as he stood rather triumphantly atop the broken scaffold. Looking down at the stunned captains and lieutenants, she could understand what Ichigo was feeling. The pride, the defiance, the bottomless willpower --- she understood that not only was unwilling to stop but he was unable to. Her eyes glazed with small, short gasps that she barely reached up to hold back.

The picturesque moment of strength and resolve was interrupted by the wild shouts and grunts of Renji from below, who was expertly knocking the Kido Corps guards unconscious. Rukia turned to Renji, dangling like a child in Ichigo’s grip. At first, she expressed surprise that Renji was staring up at her with eyes wide and mouth pulled back. She blinked a few times, unsure if it was something about her garb or if he was having second thoughts about what he had just done. But when she felt her body being propped up under Ichigo’s grip, reeled back like a football, she screamed out in protest. “Ichigo, wait! Hey!”

But it was too late. Rukia was hurled at high speed in a quarterback pass to wide receiver Renji. After his phenomenal catch and pained grunt from freshly bruised ribs, Renji heard Ichigo before he vanished from the scaffold. “Take Rukia and run!”

Three lieutenants came forth from the crowd of captains to intercept the rescue attempt: The abundant Marechiyo Omaeda, the dutiful Isane Kotetsu and the loyal Chojiro Sasakibe. Though they expected a battle of some sort, a scuffle that would bring their experience to the forefront in quelling this uprising, they didn’t expect to be handled so effortlessly. Their blades were drawn in anticipation but Ichigo had no need to pull his Zanpakuto from his back, instead opting to use the bare-handed art of Hakuda. Each lieutenant, to him, was but a brief step accompanied by the vicious thrust of a palm. Their swords, as well as their resolve, was shattered in one blow, leaving their bodies writhing in his wake.

There was one Shinigami, however, who he clashed blades with as Renji rushed off with Rukia. It was only after their weapons met that Ichigo’s eyes settled on Byakuya’s face. Wrinkles ebbed and flowed along his face in little waves of anger as he held himself back from fully seething with bared teeth, trying to maintain some form of composure for the man who had dishonored him. Ichigo and Byakuya’s Reiatsu flared in opposing bursts of energy before they broke the clash, deciding instead to blitz one another in a battle of Shunpo. Their impacts rattled the hill with sounds of lightning as they progressively moved away from the execution area and into a more vacant section. They stood opposite one another with a decent distance to give them reprieve but where their hands laid idle, their tongues continued the fight.

“You can never leave well enough alone, can you Ichigo Kurosaki?” Byakuya snorted softly, his nose and eyebrows periodically twitching to hold back a great fury. 

“You call this  _ well enough, Byakuya? _ ” Ichigo wanted to step forward, partially out of wanting to reason with him and partially because his blade felt oddly uncomfortable with the momentary pacifism.

“It  _ was  _ until  _ you _ decided to go against  _ every _ law and tradition we held dear.” Byakuya’s hand mirrored Ichigo’s tight grip, fueled by a primal need for rectification. To correct. “A Ryoka comes in contact with my sister, is an accomplice in her  _ brazen _ criminal activity, openly defies a Shinigami captain and his lieutenant in the line of duty, illegally invades the Soul Society, incites riots across the Rukongai, critically injures  _ numerous _ high-ranking Shinigami and desecrates one of our oldest traditions. All while being infected and, most likely, spreading an extremely dangerous plague. Where, in your disease-riddled mind, is this an  _ improvement _ ?”

“Well…” Ichigo’s hazel eyes slid to the corners of his vision to see captains and lieutenants fighting against one another, Shikai and Bankai running rampant on the execution grounds. He welcomed the smirk that his body urged before scoffing. “I guess you can add ‘caused an insurrection’ to your little list. I’m just fine with stepping on some archaic traditions if it means saving Rukia, my friends and anyone else who you’d rather kill with an upturned nose instead of help with an outstretched hand. Me and authority never really got along that well, anyway.”

Byakuya glanced quickly at the unraveling fight happening in the distance. Yamamoto’s flames were enough to make his eyes widen in horror and anger. His eyes fell back upon Ichigo as he raised his sword parallel to his face, both struggling to maintain a visage of calm within the unraveling storm. Soon, his Zanpakuto glowed with pink Reiatsu before splitting off into familiar cherry blossoms. “You, Ichigo Kurosaki, are  _ insane _ . I will kill you, then I will end Rukia’s life myself. She does not deserve to suffer any more of this madness.  _ Scatter, Senbonzakura. _ ”

Byakuya’s shock only grew when he witnessed his razor petals deflected by a dense stream of Reiatsu blasted from Ichigo’s sword, passing by him by mere inches. He glanced to his side to see the fresh chasm that had been carved out of the earth from the counterattack, paying little mind to the small stream of blood flowing down his arm. Even with the strength Ichigo had displayed, Byakuya remained undeterred and launched another flurry of pink blades to carve up Ichigo as he had done in the Human World. But each time they invaded the teenager’s space, they were just as quickly dispersed with bursts of Reiatsu slicing through the ground. Blood came to decorate Byakuya’s garb and, with a patience stretched thin, he dropped his sword to impale the ground.

“The plague may have made you stronger, perhaps even formidable. But I will make this very clear: You and I are  _ not _ equals. You are a diseased rat that has chewed through his last wall, Ichigo Kurosaki. Experience the strength of a true noble, the mastery one can only gain through tradition and excellency.  **_Bankai, Senbonzakura Kageoshi._ ** ” Byakuya’s sword disappeared into the ground only to have a row of towering swords emerge on either side of him. In a flash, they all shattered into innumerable cherry blossoms that whipped through the air and rushed toward Ichigo. While Byakuya remained still, the blades chased Ichigo around the battlefield like a sentient tsunami, rising and crashing in whichever direction he tried to escape to. A handful of deflections with his Zanpakuto were only enough to give Ichigo a few seconds of breathing room. That was when he realized that, even with his mastery of Shunpo, he was far too slow.

The blades split and converged like a nest of serpents, blocking exit paths while coiling around one another and trapping him inside their influence. Little by little, his footsteps declined and sweat rushed from his temple to slick the look of frustration. In under a minute, most of his body was shredded from the whipping flurry of blades slicing through his robes and smashing him into a crater. The cherry blossom serpents dripped with Ichigo’s blood, which was now two shades from black, as Byakuya slowly approached the smoking crater. Ichigo struggled to get to his feet and, surprisingly, started to laugh. Blood caked his teeth as he strained to lift his gaze to Byakyua at the lip of the crater. “Heh...pretty good, I...I….gotta say...hnrk! But...you never would’ve….gotten a hit in if...if...I activated  _ my _ Bankai….”

“I see you’re experiencing the initial throes of death, Ichigo Kurosaki. It’s the only thing that could make you think someone like  _ you _ could ever have a Bankai.” The pink petals of Senbonzakura swirled around the outer edge of the crater, encircling its prey while Byakuya tried to give his final words. The anger in his eyes was trying to find comfort in pitying him, in the fact that this may all have been just a ruse created by the plague he was so adamantly fighting against. “Enjoy your final moments.”

“I’ll...enjoy...kicking your  _ ass _ !” Ichigo stood to his feet with a stagger before planting them in the ground, grinding his heels against stone. He brought up his Zanpakuto to aim at Byakuya and slammed his other hand against the wielding arm for strength. His mouth stretched in a confident grin while a swirl of pale blue Reiatsu started to form around his body and encompassed the circumference of the crater. Lips trembled until they found the strength to coordinate with his blood-soaked tongue, urging out the incantation Byakuya bet his life that he could never utter. “ **BAN--** ”

Ichigo’s body froze. At first, the energy had been swept from him, snatched away as if it were all pretend. His body wavered for a few seconds and he tried to finish the phrase. But with every purse of his lips and lash of his tongue, his body simply refused to comply. The best he could put forth after the first half of the phrase was an incoherent gurgle that only intensified with his confusion and frustration. In the midst of his attempts, Zangetsu’s voice filled his ears. He panicked and spoke with urgency. “Ichigo! You must activate your Bankai,  _ now _ ! I can sense a darkness nearing. It is feeding your doppelganger and I am unable to contain it any further! Ichigo, you must hurry before---!”

But Ichigo knew it was too late. He could feel it and so could Byakuya, to a lesser degree. The entire battlefield pulsed in what could only be described as the physical embodiment of dread, tickling their senses in fleeting moments. Byakuya took a few steps back from the crater and watched Ichigo’s upper body slump. A terrible weight filled Ichigo’s bones and his blood had finally fallen into that colorless black but the grin didn’t fade. Rather, his Reiatsu continued to increase while shifting from blue to purple. The usually vibrant orange of his hair faded to black and eyes that were once a fierce hazel were now a muted purple. His skin brightened to an unnaturally pale tint, revealing bundles of black veins beneath the surface.

“ **_Ban...kai…”_ ** The ceremonial phrase crept out of Ichigo’s mouth, muddled and deep. It was filled with an unusual amount of bass that excited the ground and shook the air with each vowel. A pillar of Nether exploded from his body, forcing Byakuya to quickly move away to watch at a distance. His face was filled with wonder as he witnessed Ichigo, or who he believed to be Ichigo, climb out of the crater dressed in a black cloak. The large knife he had been swinging around was now replaced by a black katana that dripped with dark fluid. There wasn’t a scratch nor a drop of blood to be seen. His face was calm as he stared down Byakuya and, even though the visual spectacle of his monstrous power had faded, the feeling refused to subside. “I feel as though I have to apologize for my...less than courteous behavior toward you in the world of the living. It’s certainly no way for a child of the Father to behave. To reconcile, I offer you a pass, an opportunity to lay down your sword and join me so that we can become brothers in this glorious new power.”

For a moment, Byakuya was void of words. His mind scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing but, mostly, what he was  _ hearing _ . In all his encounters with Ichigo, he had never heard him speak so eloquently or with such an assumed prospect of victory that he would consider  _ him _ his lesser. At first, he saw it as some sort of insult, perhaps trying to mirror his way of speaking now that his power had skyrocketed. But then he saw the sincerity in his eyes, those small purple disks that sat in stark white skin like holes to nowhere. “Who are you?”

“ _ I _ am Ichigo. The  _ True Ichigo _ , the one that was locked away before Father’s blessing released me from this mortal coil.” True Ichigo flicked his sword to lash a thick line of black fluid across the ground and canted his head slightly. The earth split and burst along the dark outline, as if cut by the blade itself. “Don’t worry. I’m the same person you’ve been talking to, just better. I hope my offer wasn’t construed by this revelation. As men of nobility---”

“You are  _ not _ Ichigo Kurosaki and you are  _ certainly not _ a noble, by any standards.” Pride welled up inside of Byakuya to become the backbone for his anger, lashing out at the subtle deception of True Ichigo. Senbonzakura petals returned to surround his own body while his brows furrowed. “You are a stain on everything I stand for, a stubborn blotch that I will cleanse--”

Before the thought of sending another wave of cherry blossoms loaded up in his mind, True Ichigo was on him. He could have sat there, wondering if what he did was Shunpo or some unknown technique. He wanted to ruminate over whether or not his Senbonzakura blades were actually cast aside in such a wide berth, knocked away with such ease to allow the impostor entry. But he could barely act on instinct, let alone think in the moment. The only thing he could feel, the only sensation he could hope to embrace, was fear. And True Ichigo knew it. In fact, it’s why his blade stopped just short of slicing into his neck. “ _ That _ , Byakuya, was  _ fear _ . It’s not the cheap sensation that’s goaded out of a person through mere words, nor is it a result of deterrence. It is  _ action _ , the instance of action that happens without warning or preface. It is the same fear that you can rid yourself of if you only accept my offer. Well?”

Byakuya afforded him no more words, both severing the Earth between them and crafting a cherry blossom buzzsaw with Senbonzakura. True Ichigo’s steps could barely be placed and, instead, Byakuya’s eyes followed the blurs, believing they were waypoints afforded by his increased speed. But soon one blur turned into two, then eight, then twenty. Before he knew it, Senbonzakura was being sicced upon hundreds of dark phantoms that offered True Ichigo’s cocky smirk before vanishing. In response, Byakuya’s hands started to arc and swing, speeding up the vicious ocean of beautiful blades to begin tagging True Ichigo, although with powerful deflections of his dripping katana.

He was playing a deadly game of tag with a doppelganger that found his powerful attacks lacking and his sense of honor tiring, echoed mostly in his taunting laughter. “Is this the strength of your rebuttal, Byakuya? This may have worked back in the Human World, back when I was just a  _ child _ , but you’ll have to come up with something different now!”

“Silence!” Byakuya’s hand began to arc gracefully through the air with slow, wide strokes to direct his Senbonzakura and quick, powerful thrusts to strike with it. The speed of the petals nearly doubled with his physical intervention to whip through the air but they were still just a hair away from striking down the evil double of Ichigo. The river of pink blades then multiplied into dozens of gorgeous streams, all whirring with the shearing chaos of clashing steel, ready to shred whatever dared lay in their paths. They converged again and again, hoping to catch the manic True Ichigo but, in every instance, they only destroyed more of the battlefield. Soon enough, the smooth hillside had transformed into a chaotic wasteland filled with dips and gashes. 

For a moment, Byakuya paused, turning the attention of only one hand to Ichigo before flicking his other hand in a predestined direction. His eyes picked up the pattern of his steps and, after a few solid minutes of playing cat and mouse with the creature, he could finally look into his eyes and see genuine surprise. He would have smiled if his stoicism wasn’t so overwhelming, if rage weren’t already next in line. “Got you!”

But the getting wasn’t as good as he thought it would be. As the omnivorous streams of cherry blossoms converged on True Ichigo, clattering in excitement for their next meal, his deflections created a louder, even more chaotic sound. It wasn’t the mindless bashing of someone fending for their lives or the chaotic swings of a crazed man, as Byakuya had believed. They were individual blows, precise parries off the edge of his blade. He couldn’t hear every single one but Byakuya knew that every individual fragment of his Senbonzakura was being negated by the power of a single swing. It began as something he could count in his mind but quickly devolved into a wrathful screech of metal, his Zanpakuto unable to bear the strength of their prey. 

The final deflection cast off his Shikai and True Ichigo’s wielding arm extended out to his side. Those purple eyes looked at Byakuya, half-lidded and resting above a confident smirk. Time stood still for a bit, letting them reflect on the weight of their conviction, until True Ichigo broke the silence. “This isn’t fair, Byakuya. If you want to refuse the offer of myself and the Father, then I respect your decision. But don’t die holding back. Show me the limit of your strength or I’ll end this here.”

“I don’t know who you are or why you insist this bastardization of our highest skill is your Bankai but I will not refuse a request for execution.” Pink Reiatsu flared up around Byakuya’s body, lapping out in all directions before encircling the battlefield. It devoured the environment in a glaring pink backdrop, leaving only Byakuya and True Ichigo inside the cylindrical fortress. His gaze locked on True Ichigo with spirit renewed.  **“** **_Senkei._ ** **”**

  
  


💀💀💀

Captain Hitsugaya’s footsteps echoed throughout the hallways of the Central 46 compound and his sandals repeatedly slapped against the cold, hard floor. His breathing was on the verge of labored and every rush of air that entered his lungs left in a ragged grunt. His hands were free to swipe through the air and his eyes searched frantically with every turned corner. With the confusing narrative Izuru had given him and the corpses of Central 46 judges fresh in his mind, Toshiro couldn’t stand being absent from Momo any longer. “Momo!  _ Momo, where are you?! Momo!” _

His heels slid to a stop at the entrance to the Seijōtōkyorin, Central 46’s Residential Hall. The racing pulse of his heart started to skip once his eyes fell upon the sight of Aizen pulling his Zanpakuto from Momo’s chest. Momo’s body fell to the side to return Hitsugaya’s shocked gaze with blank, dead eyes. Aizen’s head craned about slowly with a suppressed grin. His hair was slightly messy, his glasses reflected light like a television screen and his hand tightly gripped the handle of his bloody sword. “I’m sorry you had to see this, Captain Hitsugaya. If you give me a few moments, I can --”

“ _ Get the hell away from her! _ ” Whatever respect he held for Captain Aizen, whatever beliefs he held dear for the rest of Gotei 13, had been wasting away with every gruesome discovery in the past few days. Even the shock of a living Aizen couldn’t dissuade this murder, this final blow to any self-restraint. Toshiro’s sword squealed from being snatched out of his sheathe and his body easily closed the gap, kneeling beside Momo’s corpse. His arm arced to aim the edge of the blade at Aizen’s blade, just inches from his face.  _ “You...alive...Momo...dead...what…?! What did you do?!” _

“I believe you just narrated your own answer. As I was saying, if I had a few more moments, she would have been restored. Your grieving is inconsequential.” Aizen flicked the blood from his blade and watched a few droplets land on Toshiro’s cheek. His smile was engraved into his face, refusing to budge or shift. “But your arrival, depending on how you look at it, is fortuitous. You and she can experience this bliss together.”

Toshiro, as was usual in any moment of high tension or desperation, had completely lost himself to his emotion. The most immediate of these was rage. Although his Zanpakuto granted him the abilities of cryomancy, his spirit was set ablaze by rage in almost every instance where his words failed to root. With a scream marred by the faintest trickle of tears, Toshiro saw no other path but that of harsh and immediate retribution. “ **Bankai. Daiguren Hyorin-maru!”**

Aizen vanished from his immediate field of view as the environment was encased in ice. A frost dragon erupted from his sword to encircle the elemental wings that grew from his back. His hands and feet were armored with ice, clenching and flexing with the shape of a dragon. The area’s pale shades of yellow and brown were replaced with varying shades of icy blues, leaving Momo’s body off to the side and partially covered in frost. Toshiro raised his sword in anger with feet that bolted toward Aizen but found that he was nearly bifurcated before he could reach the halfway point. His body skid across the ground the rest of the way, helped mostly by the blood spilling from his stomach and the ice that coated the floor. 

Maintaining an uncomfortable amount of confidence, Aizen craned his neck down slightly to look at Toshiro, who had stopped right at his feet. His smile almost widened at the sight of the young captain struggling to freeze the gaping wound that exposed his organs. “Anger can not give you respite, nor can it deliver you truth, Captain Histsugaya.”

“Aizen!” Captain Unohana’s voice rang out along with the shocked stuttering of Lieutenant Kotetsu close behind. Though Kotetsu was more in a state of shock-horror, Unohana’s face laid firm, stoic and brimming with a latent fury. “I  _ knew _ we should have killed you in the meeting.”

Shortly after her threat, the expression on both Unohana and her lieutenant’s faces changed. Aizen was no longer the primary concern, nor was the creeping arrival of Gin from the background. Even Toshiro and Momo’s bleeding bodies held them little to no importance. While Isane’s expression became one of childlike awe, Unohana’s changed to one of immense concern. A figure had emerged from Aizen’s shadow and stepped over Toshiro’s body, characterized only by his burning heterochromia and Herculean physique. Time stood still as Sinister’s face was revealed. “Like Yamamoto killed  _ me _ ?”

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 14 End_ **


	15. Explosions in the Dark

_ "Treacherous reprobate, Sōsuke Aizen.” _

  
  


  * Retsu Unohana



  
  
  


Though she had not yet heard his voice, Unohana recognized everything else about him from the mismatched eyes to the sleek darkness of his skin. Even in the crater of her memory, she never forgot that face. For a moment, her mask started to slip. Both Aizen and Isane wielded respect for the captain but couldn’t afford to have the knowledge of fear when it came to her true identity. Even Sinister couldn’t fathom what lay behind Unohana’s face, why her fingers writhed like worms reaching desperately for water. If she could only get a sip, a taste, she might have been okay. But, for now, the harsh squeeze of her hand upon the hilt of her sword would have to do. “How  _ dare _ you?!”

“What supposed offense would ever make you utter those words? The appearance of murder, of suffering?” Sinister briefly turned his head to look at Momo’s unresponsive body and the struggling figure of Toshiro. His eyes lidded halfway and he refused to share the same sly smirk that Aizen seemed to take from Gin. “What do  _ you _ know of suffering? You, the  _ barbarians _ who have shed innocent blood far before your births? I come here not to mirror your ways but to relieve you of them through my mercy. Sosuke Aizen is but one of my ushers into such a destiny.”

“All it took was something as simple as trust.” Aizen lifted a dead duplicate of his body in his hand, shaking it a bit to show Unohana and Isane. “No matter what you think, you have no choice but to believe what your senses tell you.”

For Unohana, connecting the dots was as easy as drawing her blade and beheading Aizen in one fluid motion. Her eyes grew sharp, her face taut. She was no fool and was not one to be fooled with. “A decoy. A lie.”

“Close but not quite.  _ Shatter, Kyokasuigetsu.”  _ The corpse Aizen lifted shattered into gleaming shards, leaving only his rather ordinary Zanpakuto still gripped in his hand. “My Zanpakuto’s ability is complete hypnotism, total control of all five senses. Ever since the ceremonial display to the captains and lieutenants, you all have been living in the reality I’ve carefully crafted for you. Not even the Captain-Commander could see the truth. Or perhaps he did and simply accepted his reality of helplessness.”

While Isane’s heart raced with disbelief and the influx of new information, Unohana was still focused on Sinister, even with Aizen’s revelation. Sinister did not flinch, nor did he care for the little display. “If your ability is so all-encompassing, why did you need  _ him _ , Aizen? Why the plague?”

Sinister sharply turned from Momo and Toshiro, almost offended that Unohana would suggest such a thing. “It is  _ not _ a plague. It is the blessing of Achlys, the destruction of a cycle that was doomed to fail. Even with Sosuke’s crafty tool, it would not be enough for the great mission he has been summoned to assist with.”

Unohana’s tongue writhed behind a mouth sealed shut and her pupils began to dilate, hungry for even more excuses for her to unleash a wrath long subdued. But her mind went to Isane, then her eyes. Her lieutenant was transfixed on the sudden influx of information, caught in a maelstrom of shock, anger, confusion and a sadness deeper than she could stand. She was her sheathe, a reminder of whatever humanity still remained in her. “Isane.”

A look and a word is all it took for the lieutenant to regain her composure. Although she internalized these emotions, she leaned on Unohana’s strength for the sake of the situation. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Sosuke, take Gin and go fetch your jewel. I will meet with you shortly.” Sinister’s eyes were fixed on Unohana, both because he was so adamant about keeping her in his sight and because the fury in her gaze refused to let him turn away. There were many things that Unohana wanted to deconstruct, to solve, but the clawing of the demon that resided just beneath the surface would not allow for more questioning. There was enough there to stay her blade but not enough to stay her tongue. She knew that the longer she remained in their presence, the more chance there was she would lose control of both.

“I trust you will choose your next steps wisely, Captain Unohana.” Aizen let his parting words simmer in the room as he and Gin vanished in a black blur, eliciting a bass-filled thrum. The silence returned, interspersed only by Toshiro’s low, croaking groans. 

“If you so much as  _ touch _ them, you will personally learn the meaning of my rank.” Unohana’s grip on the handle of her blade forced the components to creak slightly, introducing a minor tremor in her arm, the shakes of a killer. Now, more than ever, she was glad that she didn’t give her lieutenant her Zanpakuto to carry. 

“And what of Isane?” The very instant her name left his mouth, he came to understand the fear people associated with Unohana. It was the raw, tense feeling that always followed bloodlust, the pangs of horror that killed a person without ever touching them. Her eyelids descended like the shadows of a setting sun, forming milky slits void of pupils. The mouth that once twisted into a concerned pout had relaxed into a subtle grin that spread slow and unnaturally. Her shoulders slumped and her hand stroked the hilt of her curved blade like an old friend. There were instances in which he thought about saying something further or even testing her resolve, but Unohana’s response made his mind up for him.

“ _ What of her? _ ” Sinister had existed long enough to understand the weight behind those words and he knew better than to view it as a question. It was the end of the conversation, one he was starting to become very cautious in continuing in the first place. Though the vast, unnatural depths of his power had yet to be fully displayed, he knew that challenging the demon that stood across from him would bring hell far too quickly for his liking. He needed a slow burn, the controlled, manipulative assimilation of things to come, not a roaring conflagration. The standoff went to Unohana once Sinister vanished in a blur of shadows, his departure nearly devoid of sound. Hitsugaya screamed, blood started to gurgle in Momo’s throat and Yachiru had suddenly tagged back out for Captain Retsu Unohana.

  
  


💀💀💀

  
  


Both Byakuya and True Ichigo stood in the midst of swords, a hollow pillar of blades that lit up what remained of the battlefield with the captain’s pink Reiatsu. While True Ichigo's expression of arrogance remained unchanged within the towering landscape, Byakuya's stoic face shifted from stone to steel. The very words that came from his mouth sought to cut rather than correct and it was as if his very body was shifting into the blades he so dutifully commanded. Byakuya's arm stretched out to his side and silently called one of the idle, glowing blades to his grasp. A few seconds after the pink hope faded from his new sword, he broke the unnatural silence that had persisted for what seemed like hours. “You had better fight for your life. Otherwise, I will snatch it from your hands.”

True Ichigo exchanged nothing but the image of spreading lips and a monstrous, gleaming smile. Seconds later, both he and Byakuya took turns fading into nothing and reappearing with sword clashes that tested the limits of their Bankai. There was a challenge here, an evening of the playing field that came with this rather ordinary sword that Byakuya was holding. Inbetween his own sword swings, True Ichigo couldn’t help but gaze at its construction, as if trying to figure out if there was a trick to this new form other than the containment field he had constructed, this Slaughterscape. No change in shape, no shift in its color and even the weight behind his strikes was the same. 

Suddenly, in the midst of his contemplative dance of death with the captain, True Ichigo came to realize something a bit too late -- Byakuya was edging ahead. He was sure that he was giving it his all, wanting to push Byakuya to his very limit but, once he felt the warm gush of blood erupt from his shoulder to the small of his back, he understood that he had just reached his own. He heard the wet pitter patter of his blood hit the soil and jerked his body around to catch sight of a calm, yet raging Byakuya, trying to use this certainty of sight to calm his voice before speaking. They were words he never wanted to leave his mouth in earnest. “How were you able to strike me?”

Byakuya cast a small glance at the black blood that arced along the ground like a forbidden moon, slowly locking his eyes back onto those of True Ichigo. He flicked the excess blood from his blade, as if to erase all doubt that he had indeed stricken him. His vulnerability was in full view. “You were stricken through your own treachery.”

True Ichigo’s shoulders hunched like a dog on alert and his teeth clenched into a grimace, veiled in a thin mask of blood. “Don’t let one strike embolden you to be so condescending. Speak sense.”

“I  _ am _ speaking sense. You’re just not prepared to accept it as truth. But you can feel it, can’t you?” Byakuya’s eyes flicked to True Ichigo’s body momentarily and, only then, did the latter understand the foundation of his words. The constant rush of adrenaline and dopamine had numbed him to the fact that his body was growing weaker, that just standing up straight caused him a growing, considerable strain. For a moment, True Ichigo’s eyes darted away from Byakuya, from the truth, before slowly crawling back to settle on him to listen. “The Ryoka I faced on the bridge and the monster I put down in the Human World are two completely different people. Therefore, it should be no surprise that their fighting styles, Reiatsu and, most importantly, their limits are miles apart.”

True Ichigo lashed out from impatience, drawing from the growing well of rage while ignoring the idle throbs of pain that echoed through his bones. At the end of his sword’s blinding arc, he was able to witness a fresh two-inch gash that stretched from wrist to elbow on his wielding arm. He looked to the injury that oozed from the new crevice of his limb. Both veins and bloody tendons eked out along the surface like nightcrawlers in wet soil. He heard at least one thick slop of gore fall from his arm as he turned around to see Byakuya, this new god of speed, flick more of True Ichigo’s black blood from the edge of his blade. He almost laughed to deny the turn his fight was taking but defaulted to the anger, far too strong to be masked. “You think you’re better than me? Huh?!”

“I  _ know _ I am, parasite.” Byakuya’s eyes gleamed like polished glass, magnifying the deathly glare he gave True Ichigo. “You are of a lower class, a thief who robbed someone of their rightful possessions without considering the intricacies of what you took.”

“Listen to you, the noble. The haughty heretic. I didn’t  _ steal _ anything. I already  _ told _ you that I  _ am _ Ichigo!  _ I _ beat Zangetsu with this Bankai,  _ I _ beat that impostor with this Bankai and I’ll beat y--!” True Ichigo lurched forward and drove weight into his back heel, only to feel his spine crack like lightning. Forced into the floating stance between kneeling and standing, True Ichigo found himself grasping at straws, trying to find something, anything, that could explain his current situation aside from the truth that stood in front of him. He hushed when he felt the first bead of sweat run down his temple, evaporating from the flames of his renewed anger.

“And you did so without understanding the price of wielding a Bankai, especially for the first time. You hold the same foolish bravado as my lieutenant but at least he had resolve he  _ earned _ .” Every word that came from Byakuya’s mouth peeled away the layers of delusion that True Ichigo wore and deconstructed any measure of arrogance he hoped to retain. Byakuya’s steely eyes wore through the smug gaze and eventually came to settle on the seething mug of some injured animal. True Ichigo’s eyes widened as the ends of his pale mouth sloped into a frown, completing the mural of fury. “There are two things you failed to understand about our tradition. First, a Shinigami’s Bankai puts considerable strain on their body. This is especially true when they first release it, which is part of why it is not brought into battle immediately after it is achieved. Second, this strain, among other things, only further exposes the inexperience one has in wielding a Bankai. Instead of recognizing these dangers, you readily embraced them with your blatant abuse of the technique while burning through Ichigo’s Reishi. The only reason you’re probably  _ standing _ right now is because of the plague flowing through his body. Most likely close to tearing his body apart with the way you fight.”

True Ichigo practically snarled, both at the undeniable revelation Byakuya fed him and the way he delivered it. He could have scoffed at it again if he directed his words at  _ him _ , spoke as if he and Ichigo’s body were one in the same. But Byakuya talked as if True Ichigo were a wounded dog, caught by a predator for daring to mark territory that didn’t belong to him and at the mercy of his encroaching fangs. Helpless. It was that sense of helplessness, that brief denial that what he strived for was achievable, that utter refute of his identity as Ichigo, that drove him clear off the edge. Defying the cracking bones, jerky movements of pain and fresh spurts of blood, True Ichigo rushed Byakuya with the soul of a berserker. He screamed his affirmations in a last-ditch effort to reject the captain’s reality. “ _ I _ AM ICHIGO! DO YOU HEAR ME?!  _ I AM ICHIGO _ ! ME! ME! ME!”

Byakuya’s parries were practically effortless while True Ichigo’s creaking, groaning body telegraphed its weakness in a new, sloppy dance. The impostor’s speed still made the air whistle and the ground spew dust but these sensory signals merely became the preface for more brutal slashes appearing all over his body. Each parry of his steel came with the audacious sound of muscle and flesh ripping, of unintentional croaks of agony fumbling from his mouth, sometimes clogged up behind guttural roars of deep-seated frustration. Byakuya had stopped fighting Ichigo or even a pale imitation of him. Truly, he had stopped fighting altogether. The captain was in the process of butchering an animal in human skin and he brought his onslaught to an end with two fingers against his sternum. “Byakurai.”

“Hrrk!” Pale lightning arced into True Ichigo’s chest and tore a sizzling hole, the size of a silver dollar, clean through his body. Black blood leapt from the doppelganger’s mouth, past Byakuya and onto the ground. His only utterance was the tight clench of his throat racing past blackened teeth, his eyes flickering behind his head like a man possessed. The force made his body stumble a good ten feet while Byakuya maneuvered gracefully around the oil slick that was True Ichigo’s blood. However, he didn’t fall and, instead, regained his composure while holding the bloody hole in his chest. The bravado, the arrogance, had taken a back seat to the very possibility of death.

“Ichigo Kurosaki, I know you can hear me.” Byakuya raised his blade’s edge toward True Ichigo with eyes that could cut through steel. “If you have any sense of honor, any strength beyond that of this phantom that has taken hold of you, then come out and die like a true warrior. I am putting everything I have into killing you. The very least you can do is put everything  _ you _ have into dying.”

True Ichigo’s body lurched, his stomach audibly growling like a wild animal. The ocean of blood ebbed and flowed from his mouth, crashing against his teeth and sloshing out to splatter against the ground. His body convulsed with a tightened grip on his Zanpakuto until he impaled it into the ground. He screamed in a completely different register, a tone that didn’t match anyone Ichigo or Byakuya knew, a wailing, echoed shout of pure anguish that felt like the final holler of a ghost. Byakuya’s body stiffened slightly but he remained focused all the more on Ichigo when that orange hair and healthy complexion returned. Once more, he was in his own skin. “Sorry about that, Byakuya. I may be sick but I’m far from dead.”

If Byakuya could have smiled in that moment, every single tooth would have joined in on the celebration of Ichigo’s return. But he let his relief and joviality speak through his spiking Reiatsu and the blazing white aura that surrounded him in the form of  _ Shukei: Hakuteiken _ . The white wings on his back flared out and each sword that surrounded them were now consolidated into a single blade for Byakuya to wield. “If those are your final words, you’ve spoken them well.”

Ichigo’s body blazed with white energy that had the slightest blue tinge and his eyes lit up with the same resolve he had while fighting Renji. The same vigor he had when he dominated his doppelganger. The hole in his chest was now the size of a dime but neither he nor Byakuya cared much about the particulars of how that transpired. Instead, they locked eyes with one another and refused to leave that moment of finality, having accepted their fate, no matter what was decided. In that moment, their hearts paused while their bodies raced to the epicenter, clashing both soul and sword to determine the victor in an explosive finish.

  
  


💀💀💀

  
  


Back at the execution grounds, captains and lieutenants were clashing with one another in the same manner Ichigo and Byakuya were. Yamamoto was chasing down his best captains with the flames of Ryuujin Jakka’s while Yoruichi had entered an impromptu race with one of her closest friends, Sui-Feng. But, in the midst of their quarreling, Isane’s booming, omnidirectional voice forced them to pause. They hung onto every word she rushed to speak but what made their hearts race were the words that came clearest -- “Aizen is a traitor. Aizen killed Hinamori. Aizen is not dead.” Those three facts prompted every captain and lieutenant in the area into action, gathering around Sokyoku Hill and the perfectly unscathed Sosuke Aizen.

“You’re late.” To their horror, a bloodied Renji was crumpled at Aizen’s feet atop his broken Shikai. Rukia’s body dangled freely in Aizen’s hand and was raised high off the ground like the kill of a predator. Unlike Renji, however, she had no wounds beyond the look of trauma he etched on her face just by virtue of him being there. Separating Aizen and the other Shinigami was a ring of earthly spires, brought about by the press of a purple capsule in Aizen’s free hand. The hand took on a sickly green shade with a thin pattern of lines that extended beneath his sleeve and the ends of his fingers were as sharp as scalpels. As the strange hand extended toward Rukia’s chest, a bloodless void widened in a perfect circle to reveal the jewel Aizen sought. The Hogyoku.

The glowing, translucent jewel was plucked from Rukia’s body as if it were held up by invisible strings, coming out in sudden, staggering tugs. Just as the Hogyoku was cleared from her chest, the air whipped and Gin’s Zanpakuto extended to fill the gaping hole with his steel. Though the sword struck flesh, Rukia was safely in the arms of her injured brother. Byakuya’s hand had caught the blade but a few inches had passed his grip and into his flank. Even still, Byakuya’s grip steadied and his other arm held Rukia protectively against his chest while he stared down. He held his ground as the protective brother, a guardian of family and law, for a good four seconds. It was about how long it took for Gin’s blade to rest, continue extending through Byakuya’s stomach in a flickering lash and retract. 

Byakuya set Rukia, as best he could, on her feet and collapsed to the ground in a bloody heap much like Renji. While Rukia hit the ground voluntarily and tried to rock her brother back to consciousness, Aizen and Gin were attacked from above. Gatekeeper Jidanbo Ikkanzaka descended like a meteor from heaven with Kukaku Shiba riding his shoulder. Though Kukaku’s lips moved and the yellow sparks of a kido spell began to form around her hands, Aizen’s upward gaze made her heart sink. Her body began to wiggle uncontrollably as if she had suddenly lost balance and friction was no longer promised. Her legs buckled as she brought her eyes from Aizen and to one of the many chunks of her dear gatekeeper she was now floating on. One foot was being pulled by the drifting slab of Jidanbo’s severed neck while the other remained stationary on the slab that was his shoulder.

In seconds, Kukaku went from riding her trusted friend to falling through a sea of blood, coming ever closer to that solid, stony face that held Aizen’s devilish gaze. Then, she stopped with a sudden jerk. As she looked at Aizen staring back at her, almost peacefully, she saw two swords. While Aizen’s sword pierced her belly, holding her taut like thick meat on a skewer, Ichigo’s sword was stopped with a single finger. Kukaku had no time to reach for Aizen’s sword, to try and pull the traitor’s blade out and fight for survival with the fiery attitude she was well-known for. She barely had time to curse his name. Her last moments were instead plagued with the dizzying spin of her upper body being flung away from her lower half and the sound of Aizen’s sword slicing through Ichigo.

“And  _ you _ were supposed to do better than this, Ryoka.” Aizen’s face flashed with disappointment as his blade finished sweeping lengthwise across his stomach. He removed the bloody glasses from his face and dropped them to be crushed under his feet. After sheathing his blade, Aizen ran his fingers along his face, through his hair and against the nape of his neck, craning his neck to smile at the empty sky. When his gaze returned to the surrounding Shinigami, his eyes glimmered with flecks of purple. “But I should have expected as much from a mutt.”

“ _ Roar, Tenken!” _ The next Shinigami who had stepped up to try and shut Aizen’s mouth was Captain Sajin Komomura, who was far beyond the point of caring who could see his canine traits. Both his massive fist and the much larger hand of his Shikai barreled through the air to smash right through Aizen’s body. Unfortunately, instead of breaking bone, his attack shattered glass. Before Komomura could see how much of a miscalculation he made, he  _ felt _ it. From head to toe, his body ignited with pain, blood spurting from fresh cuts in recurring gushes. He couldn’t pinpoint what he was hit with or how many times he was stricken but he knew that, looking at his body before he collapsed, there was more blood than fur.

“So long, I’ve had to stand  _ among _ you rather than  _ above _ you, where I truly belong.” In the center of Aizen’s forehead, a Theta symbol emerged. It sat on his skin like a tattoo and glowed with a dim purple energy, something that his eyes also shared. On either side of him, both Tosen and Gin wiped the blood from their face, revealing the same mark stamped on their forehead and eyes brimming with a mysterious power. Aizen’s eyes came to settle on each captain opposite them, all of whom were ready to strike him down at a moment’s notice. But that calm never left his face and a sinking terror soon enveloped the captains’. All except Yamamoto. “It is always so difficult to hold back on crushing insignificant creatures. Truly, the allocation of power is the greatest test of restraint. As far as I can tell, I’ve passed it with flying colors.”

“I think they have had enough for one day.” Sinister’s voice emerged from behind the corrupted triumvirate and his body was pulled from their collective shadows, standing adjacent to Aizen. With haste, Captain-Commander Yamamoto availed himself of his outer layers and stepped in front of the other captains to stare down the demon. Sinister could only smile with a hint of pity in his voice. “Ah. Unohana looks the same as before but  _ this _ beast….hasn’t aged well, has it?”

Yamamoto’s blade was at Sinister’s throat well before the latter finished his statement. Sui-Feng, Yoruichi, Shunsui and Ukitake all joined the Captain-Commander in holding equally threatening stances to restrain Aizen and Tosen. Gin simply needed the blade of Captain Matsumoto to keep him still. Though all were engaged, only Yamamoto’s voice was heard among them. “You have incredible nerve to return here after I destroyed you so long ago. You did well in staying in the shadows, knowing that I would have crushed you for every breath you dared to take in my Soul Society. Now that you’ve shown yourself, I assume you’re ready to die again?”

“You haven’t changed, have you Yamamoto? Even in your wise old age, you  _ think _ and  _ act _ like a common savage.” The air around Sinister and the corrupted captains started to shimmer like specks of purple glitter. Any weight or current the wind carried had suddenly ceased, leaving a deafening silence that sent chills through those closest to them. Yoruichi snatched Soi-Fon away, Yamamoto pulled back in unison with Shunsui and Ukitake & Gin took the liberty of shoving Captain Matsumoto away, allowing them to witness the thick column of blackness that spilled out from the sky and enveloped the murderous four. As they cast their gaze skyward, they saw a dimensional rift forced open by an amalgamation of Hollows. Slowly, Sinister and his ilk ascended from the execution grounds. “The longer you adhere to the blade as the only means to achieve your goals, the shorter and more insignificant your life will be. My new sons ascend with me because they understand more than you possibly could. They have seen the future that I will bring and the cycle that I will soon break.”

“Once we have the Oken, we will lay waste to the mindless puppet and fill the empty throne of heaven. We will be kings.” Aizen looked to Ichigo while he struggled to stand. He wanted to leap at them and try any method of venting his frustration he could muster but he felt the Nether coursing around them. His injuries throbbed and sent shockwaves through his bones, telling him in all ways but shouting that he would not have them this day. Komomura and Matsumoto joined in on the seething stares, directing them firmly at Tosen and Gin. Yamamoto found himself clutching the handle of his Zanpakuto and both Shunsui and Ukitake could see the indecision in his eyes. In that moment, his mind reeled at the idea of restraint Aizen had commented just moments earlier and put it into practice. 

As Sinister and the others reached the splitting void in the sky, several Menos Grande emerged as a parting gift and a final, silent reminder for them not to dare follow. Before the captains could tense, Yamamoto took full advantage of the Hollows who dared share the same space as him. Before they so much as touched the ground, the flames of Ryuujin Jakka devoured them and burned the sky with a lasting tinge of crimson. With that, the sacred grounds of the execution grounds were restored. The captains’ tongues adhered to their mouths, unable to gather more than a few drops of saliva to speak. But, in the presence of Yamamoto's reflective rage, none would have dared to.

  
  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 15 End_ **


	16. Smiles & Secrets

_ "Pretty good, huh? Doing things in reverse is my specialty.” _

  
  


  * Shinji Hirako



  
  


**_Human World_ **

Whether or not normal was a word that Ichigo could continue to associate with, he would use it to separate his new life as a Substitute Shinigami from his school life, which quickly became the filler of his day. With only a month separating him and Aizen’s betrayal, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the mixed emotions of the captains. Rukia had chosen to stay in the Soul Society and, aside from the badge he carried around, it was as if life had reverted back to how it was before he even knew what a Hollow was. The plague that once ran rampant at Karakura Town High School and the destruction of its gym were both explained away with half-truths like delinquents who went too far and criminal activity that was forced to fit a narrative. Those who had fallen ill weren’t thought of as dead but had simply “moved away”, an acceptable euphemism for those who preferred a fleet of moving trucks to a graveyard.

Ms. Ochi, surprisingly, was in good spirits. The combination of a short administrative leave, a few weeks of sake-indulgent amnesia and the ever-blazing determination to adhere to her identity as a teacher had brought her back from the bowels of that wretched day. For the first time in months, she had the opportunity to introduce someone new to her class, someone who shared the same optimistic outlook as her. The new student standing opposite of Ms. Ochi was dressed neatly in uniform with an odd smile and straight-cut blonde hair that stopped at his chin. As he bowed to the class, Ms. Ochi stared intently at how his name was written backwards in Kanji on the chalkboard. “I’m Shinji Hirako. Nice to meet ya!”

Although the quirk of writing one’s name backwards was nothing to stir feelings of suspicion, there was something about Shinji that unnerved Ichigo. Part of it, the only real part he could explain to himself, was that his demeanor was unnervingly convincing. From his haircut to his odd smile and even his somewhat casual gait toward the seat right next to him, Ichigo could feel something was off with him. But, for whatever reason, he had as much luck pinpointing it as he did figuring out what Sinister was. His contemplation was broken by the sudden glow of his Substitute Shinigami badge and his body jostled against his desk. He heard Shinji’s voice, too close for comfort, with eyes still locked on his badge. “Funny looking charm ya got there. What’s it mean when it  _ glows _ like that?”

“Weak bladder. Washroom.” Even before the unusual circumstances that surrounded the school, Ichigo was rather infamous for his excuses for getting out of class. From constipation to diarrhea and, in a case where Miss Ochi was particularly hesitant on letting him leave, Ebola, Ichigo had become a master of getting out of his routine responsibilities. While Ichigo speedwalked out of the classroom, Shinji slumped his cheek against his palm while glancing at the doorway. His strange, welcoming expression expanded into a smile.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


Nights in Karakura Town had gone from hours of expectation and anxiety to mostly uneventful. Although Ichigo had technically been given the responsibility to protect Karakura Town from any otherworldly forces, the only highlight of his patrols he could bother to remember was a drugged up salaryman who just needed a good nap in the back of a police car. But that night, his mind wasn’t clear. Instead, it raced with the same kind of uncertainty and expectation he felt whenever a Hollow was nearby. On his stroll past local markets and apartment complexes, Ichigo’s chin was firmly cupped in one hand, his eyes flickering between the ground and the streets in front of him. If he weren’t in his Shinigami form, and invisible to normal people, his small instances of talking to himself in the dead of night might have warranted a bit more attention. “Who the hell  _ was _ that guy? Maybe his family is involved in the circus or something...”

Then came that familiar pang that he was anticipating, that minute but definite jolt of electricity up his spine when his eyes caught sight of someone in the shadows of a closed sushi shop. The thick band of darkness, that sat between the small shop and the concrete wall just before the next street, almost seemed to spew out a silhouette of someone. Ichigo’s hand immediately reached back to grab the hilt of his Zanpakuto, tightening when purple flecks glistened with the silhouette’s slow movement. Ichigo took a few steps forward while unsheathing his blade and let the silhouette witness the glint of steel in the moonlight. But before Ichigo could bring his Zanpakuto clear around his body, he heard a series of short whimpers. Stumbling forward, with his purple sunglasses falling to scrape across the ground, was Zennosuke Kurumadani. “W-wait, my man! I’m not no Hollow!”

“What in the _hell_ are you doing sneaking up on people?!” Ichigo lowered his sword but raised his voice. He was almost mad at himself for assuming the worst.   
“Hey, hey! _Cool it_ , man! I was just trying to introduce myself, is all! Heck, I should be asking who _you_ are! I am Zennosuke Kurumadani, Elite Shinigami protector of Karakura Town.” Even with a fresh burst of bravado running through his veins, Zennosuke couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Ichigo. He quickly swiped up his purple sunglasses and slid the temples into his afro, which he then promptly fluffed. His hands rested his hips and his chest was pumped out but his eyes couldn’t seem to muster the confidence to say much more without a response from Ichigo. It was a constant battle with his own self-worth that he didn’t want to make public, especially for another Shinigami.

“Zennosuke, huh? Name’s Ichigo Kurosaki, Substitute Shinigami and, well, I live here.  _ Have _ lived here all my life and have been cutting down Hollows for a little bit now. Why would they send somebody like  _ you _ to watch over Karakura Town?” Ichigo was prepared to fully sheath his Zanpakuto but another jolt of electricity raced up his spine, forcing him to pause. 

“Substitute Shinigami? Pfft! Never heard of anything like that.  _ Anyway _ , I’m taking over for Rukia Kuchiki. I was assigned her spot and I’ve been making sure these streets stay quiet and Hollow free, so no need for you to be here! You should go home but, before you do, maybe you could thank me for my services, eh?” Zennosuke’s smile widened, even when Ichigo’s eyes left him and settled on the rooftop of a laundromat across the street. “If you’re still in shock from my skill, I can understand.”

“Step back.” Ichigo turned to face the laundromat in full and his blade settled out in front of him, no longer indecisive as to whether to sheath or remain drawn. 

“Hey, you can’t just ignore me. Hey! Are you listening?!” Zennosuke blinked, becoming annoyed. Ichigo reached out a hand to frame Zennosuke’s chin between his fingers and turned his face to Shinji, standing on the rooftop of the laundromat. “...oh.”

“Take care of that overactive bladder of yours, Ichigo?” Shinji unveiled a Zanpakuto and, incidentally, triggered Ichigo’s fighting instinct. The teenager leapt from the street to meet Shinji on the roof and swung his Zanpakuto in a diagonal arc to meet his. Surprisingly, Shinji parried it with ease. But with that parry, besides the intense blowback of spiritual pressure that sent Zennosuke flying down the street, came a second, more potent trigger that made Ichigo pause. Shinji’s feet drifted from the ground until they came to rest in midair, his Zanpakuto lazily slung over his shoulders. “Now’s not the time for fighting, Ichigo. At least not the kind  _ you _ like to do. Don’t you know that spiritual pressure is as good as bait when attracting trouble?”

“You’re….different. You carry a Zanpakuto but...that energy. I  _ know _ that energy.” Ichigo’s sword lowered but his eyes bore holes into Shinji’s grinning expression. “Who are you?”

“I didn’t come here to play twenty questions, Ichigo. I came here to save you from the Shinigami that recruited you.” Shinji’s expression melted a bit and he welcomed a bit of stoicism in his voice. “You don’t belong with the Shinigami or any group in the Soul Society. If you knew what I knew, then you’d be standing over here with me.”

Ichigo stood stone faced but didn’t respond to the question in any regard, instead repeating his own. “ _ Who are you? _ ”

“Good lord, you really  _ are _ as thick-headed as they said. Fine, if it’ll shut you up. Here.” Shinji’s free hand raised to press against his temple while he stared down Ichigo. Brown eyes brightened to a luminescent purple within black voids and fair skin soon became pallid. Blonde curtains of hair darkened to rich ebony locks. All the while, Shinji studied Ichigo’s expression with every step of his subtle transformation and earned back his smile. “I’m just like  _ you _ , Ichigo. We’ve got the same affliction.”

One would think that, even with how Shinji appeared, Ichigo would at least stay himself long enough to digest Shinji’s words. But that adolescent thinking, that rash direction that Ichigo’s thoughts lurched into upon seeing Shinji’s appearance, was driving him far away from any sense of reason. Ichigo stepped forward with the intent to strike and raised his sword accordingly. “You...are you with that guy? Are you with Sinister?! I told that smelly idiot I won’t join him!”

“Ichigo, calm down! I didn’t come here to fight,  _ especially _ here. That kind of spiritual pressure attracts the wrong kind of people.” Shinji extended a hand out and hardened his expression.

“And you’re the  _ right _ kind of person? Stalking me and showing me you’ve got the plague? Why shouldn’t I believe you were sent here to kill me like the rest of his groupies?” Ichigo didn’t move his stance and was ready to strike the moment any word that came from Shinji’s mouth rubbed him the wrong way. 

“Ichigo, I know you can sense my Reishi. Do you think we would be having any kind of conversation if I were sent to kill you?” Shinji’s eyes stayed locked on Ichigo and his smile adjusted every time Ichigo’s expression danced between shock, anger and surprise. He saw the internal argument Ichigo was having with himself, how he was trying to find some way, any way, to justify his anger against him, to feel content in the fact that he could strike Shinji without being weighed down by doubt. Ichigo’s blade finally came down with a heavy swing, but it left Shinji whole, coming to rest at his side. No matter what he  _ thought _ he knew, he knew that didn’t know better.

“And you just expect me to go along with you just because you’ve got a Zanpakuto and the plague? A few similar traits don’t make us equals, Shjini, if that even  _ is _ your real name.” Ichigo’s grip on his Zanpakuto hesitantly loosened and the edge of his sword finally came to rest against the roof’s shingles. Before he could continue countering Shinji’s request, there was a pulse that shook him to his bones, a spiritual pressure that felt both familiar and strange. Both he and Shinji turned to the same direction without any preface of sound or sight, relying strictly on that overwhelming power that forced them silent.

“Just as surely as you can feel  _ that _ , Ichigo, you can rest assured I’m telling you the truth. The longer you stay with the Shinigami, the worse things are going to get. You need to be among people who are like you, who understand what you’re going through.” Shinji’s eyes remained locked on the direction of the spiritual pressure spike and was even tempted to raise his sword on sheer instinct. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Heh. Join or die? You and Rukia like to recruit the same way, I see. Even Sinister offered me some hippie bullshit with a sword in my arm.” His body remained faced toward the disturbance while his eyes darted to look at Shinji, sharp and suspicious. “As far as I’m concerned, all three of these groups could be the same. Personally, I don’t give a damn who’s trying to recruit who. I’m here to protect Karakura Town and my friends, by any means necessary. I don’t need some weirdo with a bowl cut to help me understand that. So, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go do my job.”

Shinji reached out in an attempt to stop him but anyone who knew Ichigo knew that, when he was on his way, there was nothing one could do but watch him go. In seconds, the Shinigami was out of sight and Shinji was on his cellphone. There was a moment of hesitation before his thumb hit the speed dial and he even held the phone a few inches from his face in preparation for what would come out of it. “Yeah, it’s me. Well, unfortunately he didn’t take the off---well, hold o---would you calm down!  _ Okay okay!  _ Just let me handle it!”

After weathering the childish shouts and screams that rebut his every effort, Shinji closed his flip phone and looked out into the distance. “You’ll join us, in time, Ichigo.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


**Concurrently - Tsubakidai Park**

Uryu couldn’t hope to count the amount of steps he took that evening, nor would he remember how many it would take to get back to a sense of safety. All that he knew, through haggard breaths and legs pained from fleeing, is that his chances of dying were higher than they’d ever been. A Hollow had been trying to close the distance after ripping its way into the Human World, giving Uryu an impromptu cardio session for the past fifteen minutes. Its body was not unlike a metal screw, a tall, twisting foundation to the elongated arms that slumped out from either side. Instead of a flattened top, the screw-like skeleton gradually disappeared into layers of black muscle and fat, the texture shifting between smooth and intricately fibrous. This flesh puffed up like a storm cloud to produce shoulders, a chest and a head that stuck out like an uncut gem. Two eyes and the Greek Theta symbol, which both glowed with a menacing shade of purple, were burned into Uryu’s memory every time he looked back.

In their wake was cracked concrete and black blood, signs of effort from Uryu hoping that his  _ Haizen _ would have crushed the creature. By default, his brain screamed at him and, sometimes, his steps were betrayed by his own body that wanted to detour into Quincy technique. Even his fingers twinged and flexed in the hopes that he would somehow produce his bow. But every time he thought about delving into that well of human hope, his stomach churned and the embarrassing display of rage from the Soul Society rattled his spine with electric shame. He couldn’t fight and he couldn’t hope. All he could do was run and even that was soon reaching its end, made clear with the increasing volume of his taxed wheezing. 

Uryu turned back one last time and could practically smell the Hollow’s breath on his face. Its jagged, uneven face was at the center, opening wide to an abyss that reeked of rot and corpses. He didn’t even see the hands that rounded about its body, inches away from clutching Uryu in a vice grip. But the light and sudden gust of a racing Helig Pfiel that darted past his vision, nearly slicing his cheek, woke him from the victim’s daze. The Hollow was knocked through the park from the strike, shaking trees and rattling the Earth with its weight. Uryu turned to see his father, Ryuken, dressed in a crisp beige suit and flipping his shoulder length hair that looked like snow in the moonlight. His face reeked of disappointment, solid stone that refused to budge from any excuse that could have come from his son.

“Is  _ this _ what you went to the Soul Society for?  _ This _ is what you have to show?” The Hollow emerged from its injury and tried in earnest to snatch Uryu’s life from behind but Ryuken’s arrow was faster. Its black flesh disintegrated from his might, leaving Uryu still frozen and speechless in his beat up school uniform. “Pathetic.”

“Ryuken---” Uryu’s lips started up to speak but were harshly cut down.

“Don’t disgrace yourself further by calling me by my first name. You went unprepared,  _ weak _ , into the Soul Society, lost your temper and allowed yourself to fall prey to the plague. What am I  _ supposed _ to feel?” Ryuken approached his son in careful, paced steps, almost unsure if the cleansing of the plague from his body was certain. 

“You...you call me dishonorable but you don’t...even tell me you have Quincy powers? You said---” 

“I  _ said _ I had no interest in it. I  _ said _ you had no talent for it. I never  _ said _ I discarded my Quincy powers. Whether I like it or not, I am the final Quincy and I am the one destined to inherit all of the powers of those before me, per your grandfather, Soken.” Ryuken slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a five-pronged steel symbol, grafted to a circle and held by its chain. Uryu’s eyes widened at the sight of the Quincy Cross and he slowly stood to his feet, feeding off of the energy of his awe. “If ignorance and affirmation  _ of it _ is all that’s going to come out of your mouth, then it would be best to listen instead. You have been a fool and reveled in your unearned pride and stupidity, almost to the point of death. You have  _ failed _ , Uryu Ishida. But I  _ too _ would be a fool and a failure if I were to cast you off without a chance at redemption. I can restore your powers. At a price.”

“....what price?” Uryu eked out his words with his eyes firmly pressed on his father’s lips, as if trying to ensure he didn’t indulge too much in what he was allowed to say.

Ryuken put the Quincy Cross back into his jacket and pushed his glasses along the bridge of his nose. “You will never associate with the Shinigami, or their ilk, ever again. Aside from egregious crimes they’ve committed against us, the next time you catch the plague from them could be your last.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


**Karakura Town - Shopping District**

“Damn Hollows. Can we even call them that now?” Isshin Kurosaki, clad in a Shinigami uniform, was sitting atop the skull of a dead Hollow. One knee was propped up while the other casually hung over the front of its face, which was fit for its four-story tall body. The Hollow resembled a Neanderthal with flesh wrought from its body, now charred from a strange fire and reeking of death. One of its massive eyes laid still while the other was cleaved from its body completely, along with most of its skull. Isshin glanced at Urahara, who was leaning against a bicycle rack just in front of an office building. Off to the side, Kon, in Ichigo’s human body, was on the verge of catching his breath.

“Only out of  _ convenience _ , Isshin. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten rusty from your twenty-year break.” Urahara only managed a small chuckle before the weight of their meeting made itself apparent. “It’s getting bad.”

Isshin popped his neck and looked away. “I know.”

“The Vizards went to see him.” Urahara’s face lifted to show his cold eyes within the shadows of his hat.

Isshin’s face dropped just enough for the night’s shadows to shade his face. “I know.”

There was a considerable amount of silence between the two, long enough for the night to stretch and lounge in their senses before Isshin’s body sputtered an involuntary cough. He snorted, wiped his nose and raised his head, ready to face the topic. “Twenty years can change a hell of a lot, Kisuke. But I think we both know what kind of men we are. What we can do.”

With the way Isshin’s eyes slid in his skull to look at Urahaha and the deafening stillness of his body, anyone else would have perceived his words as a threat. But Kisuke knew better and deciphered him perfectly. “I’m the right combination of smart and lucky but I’m no god, Isshin. Even  _ with _ Mayuri’s assistance, there’s still too much we don’t know about the Nether.”

“You made the Hogyoku--”

“That Aizen  _ stole _ \---”

“---and created those Gigai---”

“---which are far from perfect---”

“So why the  _ hell _ can’t you save my son?!” Isshin’s voice raised but it wasn’t a shout. It was the elevation that came with words which prefaced a wall of emotion, seen only in wet glints in his eyes. For the first time in the whole conversation, he stared directly at Urahara and tightened the grip on his Zanpakuto hilt. 

Urahara had the chilling trait of staring down even the most deadly and precarious of sights with the gaze of a surgeon, piercing through any veil of fear that had hoped to force his gaze to falter. Though it was no different here, in that moment, he felt the urge. And that was enough to scrape a bit more truth from the candy shop owner. “Because it’s  _ fast _ , Isshin. The Nether doesn’t act like any ordinary pathogen or animal we can just extrapolate information on. First it acts like the plague, then it feeds off emotion, then it reanimates corpses and now it’s creating its own  _ evolutionary chain _ , as seen with that Hollow you chopped down just minutes ago. And, as much as I don’t like to think about it, I’m not the only scientific heavyweight around. Aizen’s an asshole but he’s earned the right to brag. Having him at the core of this Nether outbreak, and whatever Sinister is planning, makes things difficult. Not  _ impossible _ but difficult.”

Isshin absorbed what he said but the look he gave Urahara, one without a twinge of change or consideration, let them both know that he wanted a simple answer to a simple question. “Can he be cured?”

“If you mean destroyed, at  _ this _ point, yes. If you mean cleansed of the plague, time will have to tell.” Urahara tipped his hat to hide his eyes, giving more context to his second answer. “The Vizards should be able to help Ichigo manage his symptoms, keep things manageable. At least for a bit. Give us some time.”

“Urahara. Promise me something.” Isshin had already hopped off the dead Hollow and watched its body finally begin to disintegrate into black dust, whisked away by stray evening winds. Though his back was turned to Kisuke, he spoke as if they were face to face. “If killing Ichigo becomes the only way, let  _ me _ do it.”

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 16 End_ **


	17. Slow Meteors

_ "Piss me off more, and more, and more! The more you do, the more pathetic your final deaths will be!!” _

  
  


  * Yammy Riyalgo



  
  
  


By the next day, things had gone from bad to worse. Instead of Hollows rampaging throughout Karakura Town and infected strangers trying to lure teenage prodigies, there was a mountain of a man sucking up souls. Yammy Llargo, and his accompanying Arrancar Ulquiorra Cifer, were enjoying the casual slaughter of humans in the middle of Karakura Park, both clad in black and purple uniforms that were strikingly similar to the Shinigami. While Yammy’s puckered lips and widened eyes expressed a sense of glee one only saw in a child at the start of Thanksgiving dinner, Uluiorra’s pale face was filled with a mix of disinterest and dread at the prospect of cleaning up after him. It was only after the powerful quakes from Yammy’s Gonzui stopped that Ulquiorra’s weary voice piped up for some verbal reprimand. “Three minutes. Not even three minutes here and you attract the attention of an entire city. Why did you even come?”

“Aw, c’mon Ulquiorra! You know I can’t miss out on a challenge! I mean, yeah the Human World sucks ass but if  _ you’re _ going, then it’s  _ gotta _ be worth the piss poor Reiatsu inbetween crackin’ skulls.” Yammy’s lips smacked and his tongue lashed loudly against the roof of his mouth while his face twisted in disgust. “Eugh! Speakin’ of piss, these humans taste  _ awful _ ! A damn  _ Menos _ would make a better snack.”

“This isn’t a field trip, Yammy.  _ My _ orders, before  _ you _ came bumbling in wanting to tag along, were to find Ichigo Kurosaki and see if he’s ready to join The Family.” Ulquiorra stepped past Yammy and over a few dead bodies. While their clothes looked pristine and relatively untouched, their skin had lost its luster and their eyes were glassy, hollow replicas of what once was. “Hm. Just like dolls.”

“Yeah yeah, find the orange-haired kid. Who are we gonna rough up next?” Yammy’s head snapped around to see one person who survived his gluttonous technique, raising her voice in defiance.

“Nobody! Ngkk…” Tatsuki Arisawa was frozen on her knees and clad in a standard karate gi. Though she found the strength to speak, the rest of her was frozen by Yammy’s impending steps. She had grown up alongside Ichigo, putting punks in their place and protecting those that couldn’t protect themselves. But the feeling that gripped her wasn’t like the holds she learned how to break in karate class. Alongside the Reiatsu, that adhered her body against the grass like a magnet, there was a thickening sense of existential dread that made the whole experience all the more frightening. Though her body was still, her heart was about to burst from her chest.

“Huh? One of these humans actually survived my Gonzui? Hey, Ulquiorra! Do we need to worry about this one?” Yammy scratched the back of his head and looked to Ulquiorra with a feigned need for approval. His muscles were already tense, just waiting for the utterance from his fellow Arrancar to smash Tatsuki into pulp. 

“She’s nothing. If she bothers you so much, then kill her already and stop shouting like an idiot. I told you, we’re only here for Ichigo Kurosaki.” The moment Ulquiorra’s lips moved to give a response, Yammy’s massive body jerked about to bring his fist down on Tatsuki’s skull. His joy was stolen, however, by the timely intervention of Chad and Brazo Derecha de Gigante, a sleek red and black layer of partial armor that made Yammy pause. Following right behind, Orihime scooped Kanzuki away from the battlefield.

“The hell? You ain’t the one we’re looking for, either. Goddamn pests!” A Theta symbol flashed purple in the center of Yammy’s forehead while his eyes glimmered with Nether. Immediately, Chad and Orihime came to understand just how much danger they had introduced themselves to. When Chad tried to leap away from the Arrancar, Yammy’s tight fist loosened into thick, dense fingers that grabbed hold of his armored limb. With terrifying ease, it was relieved from him from the shoulder down. Much like the separation of a tree from its roots, all that remained was a bony ring atop his new stump.

“Chad!  _ Chad! _ ” Orihime’s screams were quick to turn into sobs. With Kanzuki in a forced catatonic state, she rushed over to Chad’s downed body. His body twitched and, for a moment, he had tried to force himself off the blood-soaked grass only to collapse in the growing puddle beneath him. 

“Heh! Lookit his blood, Ulquiorra! Candy red, almost. Buncha heretic losers, just like Father said.” Yammy was fit to laugh but stopped himself when he saw Orihime utilize her Shun Shun Rikka to form a healing barrier over Chad’s gushing stump. To his amazement, sinew by sinew, it was on its way to fully regenerating. “Hey...Ulquiorra….this girl---”

“Yammy, your incessant chattering and loudmouth antics wouldn’t be  _ half _ as bad if you actually said something useful.” Nonetheless, Ulquiorra reluctantly walked over to Yammy and caught sight of Orihime using her powers to heal. “She’s a healer? Intriguing. But not who we’re looking for. Kill her and the other one so that we can get out of here and look for Ichigo.”

Just like before, Yammy’s body was already tense, existing in a constant state of violence. Just like before, his body snapped around like a rubber band and hurled his fist at Orihime’s skull. But this time, he was stopped by a transparent barrier of cyan energy. Normally, the weak barrier of Orihime’s Shun Shun Rikka would have shattered under Yammy’s Nether-empowered might. But instead of laughing at the fresh smear of gore on his knuckles, Yammy found himself screaming in pain from a first-degree burn. Steam rolled off of scalded skin as the tan complexion of his hand shifted quickly to a beet red, complete with sweltering blisters. “Ahhh! Fuckin’ bitch!”

If it had been electrical feedback crackling around Yammy’s knuckles or even a surprise show of sheer strength, Ulquiorra wouldn’t have minded. In fact, he may have been a bit more relieved to see that someone other than himself could pull back Yammy’s antics with a bit of deterrence. But his eyes didn’t widen at that. Instead, Ulquiorra’s entire face had lost the statuesque etching of apathy, relaxing into awe. He wanted to say something to Yammy, knowing that he was far too thick-headed to realize the implications of the force he had just met. But his fresh flurry of cursing and the desire to confirm his findings had pulled his lips taut again, silent and watchful. Orihime stood to her feet, brows arched and hands raised, before gathering that same cyan energy, that Aether, into both hands. 

Her palms and fingers arched in a diamond shape while Yammy went to reach for her head once more. The loud crack that came after wasn’t from Yammy crushing Orihime’s skull, as the brutish Arrancar may have planned. Rather, it came from a bullet, a projectile that raced through Yammy’s hand and ripped through his elbow with the force of a .357 magnum. Orihime was far too caught up to call upon the bravado of Annie Oakley but she did share in the innate self-congratulatory feeling that came from seeing someone like Yammy cry out in pain. The slight twinge of a smirk, the solidified stance of spread legs and steady arms were trademark nonverbal cues of “That felt damn good.” and “I’d do it again.”

The piercing boom of Aether raced past Ulquiorra’s head while he stared at Yammy trying to keep his arm in one piece. His face firmed up, certain that Orihime would quickly become a problem. “It’s  _ Aether _ , Yammy. Keep your distance. This girl has harnessed the element Father warned us about.”

“Ugghhhrrrnngnnnnn...dammit! He said we would  _ sense it _ , Ulquiorra!” Yammy held his damaged arm at the shoulder and let blood drip from his open wounds.

“He said we would be able to sense _ adept _ users, Yammy. If I had to guess, she’s barely aware of how Aether even works.” Ulquiorra’s gaze sharply turned to Orihime and her stance of confidence broke completely. “Isn’t that right?”

“W-what? What are you two talking about? Go away!” Orihime’s voice ratcheted up but had no right to stay there. The fear that was momentarily cleansed from her body with the showing of this new, mysterious power had returned with a vengeance, attacking her limbs with tremors and every word she spoke with a particularly innocent tremble. “J-just...just stay a-away…”

“Let me kill her. Let me  _ fuckin’ _ kill her, Ulquiorra! I’m not gonna let some  _ heretic bitch _ just show me up like this!” Yammy was already clenching and unclenching his good hand. But before he could go about barreling toward Orihime for a second time, the Theta symbol on his forehead pulsed. Once Ulquiorra’s Theta symbol pulsed in conjunction, Yammy’s anger nearly instantaneously faded. Though he twisted his lips in frustration, he looked over his shoulder at Ulquiorra and nodded, confirming their silent conversation before stepping off to the side. 

From behind Yammy’s bulky frame was revealed to be Ulquiorra and his slender finger pointed directly at Orihime’s chest. A green and purple marble of energy resonated at the tip of his digit, fluctuating with impatience. Despite its size, even Yammy’s uncharacteristic silence and reverence held some proof of its grave power. “Any agents of the Pantheon must be extinguished with prejudice. Per the Nocturnes.”

While Orihime was mesmerized both by the little ball of energy and his perplexing line of reasoning, her world became chaos. Nature’s palette of greens and blues had been torn asunder by a sudden onslaught of black, purple and green. Stillness was replaced by an omnidirectional vibration that made her air violent. Her feet were off the ground and her hair had completely left her field of vision from the gale-force winds that whipped her head about so freely. In it all, a sense of impending death encroached her spirit with a suffocating grip that nearly made her weep. But she was not harmed. These were the sensations of a survivor, something she soon discovered when she felt and saw that she was resting, unscathed, in the arms of Ichigo Kurosaki.

“The girl said to go away. Which one of you guys do I have to beat that message into?” Ichigo set Orihime down, feet first, on the grass before stepping inbetween her and the Arrancar. Dressed in Shinigami garb, he was already unsheathing his Zanpakutoa and aiming its edge at Ulquiorra. “The goth or the meathead?”

“This the guy, Ulquiorra?” Yammy turned to Ulquiorra, then turned to Ichigo in a slow, repetitive fashion, asking permission with his body. His good hand was clenching and unclenching like before, cracking knuckles in the process. “Or…”

“Yes. I can sense Father’s essence in him. Though suppressed, this is our target. Strange seeing him unmarked.” Ulquiorra lowered his hand. “But that can be rectified, if he is ready to join The Family.”

“Tch! Some scruffy punk like  _ him _ defending a heretic? Going against the  _ Nocturnes _ ? I’d say he’s a  _ traitor _ , if anything.” Yammy turned to Ulquiorra again, this time letting his eyes linger until he saw that brief shrug from his fellow Arrancar. His head snapped around to fully focus on Ichigo and the giant khyber knife aimed at his gut. “Lucky for  _ him _ , I’m good at beatin’ sense into Family members. Keeps ‘em on the straight an’ narrow. By the time  _ I’m _ done with him, he’ll be  _ beggin’ _ to get marked!”

“ _ Bankai. _ ” Yammy heard the phrase come quietly out of Ichigo’s lips but paid it little mind. His massive arm swept through the air to displace the air with a thunderous whoosh only to see Ichigo unscathed and holding his trademark black katana. It took a moment to register the sudden imbalance of his body and the spurting blood that rushed from the severed stump that once was his arm. Clasping the wound with his injured hand only compounded his pain and his fury, bringing about a raucous bullish snort. “I don’t know what kind of family you’re going on about but I’m guessing it has to do with that naked freak, Sinister. I’ll tell you what I told him: I’m not joining his crazy new age cult bullshit. If you want a  _ second opinion _ , I’ll take that  _ second arm _ . Just to drive the point home.”

Unlike his encounter with Byakuya Kuchiki, this Bankai state was devoid of the prideful, violent malevolence that dominated Ichigo’s mind. The aura that flared up around his body was a rich mixture of blue and white, abandoned of the sickly purple that felt like slow rot. The resolve that was once audaciously present with his last encounter against Renji lit up his eyes like spotlights. Though it wasn’t quite Aether, it was a fighting spirit he could call his own. Orihime, meanwhile, was trying to grasp the situation and, in turn, Ichigo himself. She reached out to try and touch his garb, uttering his name with the greatest of care. “Ichigo…”

Instinctively, Ichigo's shoulder jerked away from her fingers. He turned around shortly after and made brief eye contact, just enough to relieve her heart, to let her know it came from a place of caution, not anger. “Stay back, Orihime. Please.”

Orihime had always wanted to get close to Ichigo. But ever since he started his adventures as a Shinigami, he felt herself drifting further and further away from him. Although only a few feet of space separated them, she felt like their spirits were miles away. When her fingers tried to touch his robe, there was a terror that fluctuated through her. In some ways, it was like clutching fire. The frightening, and most unnerving part, was never knowing who would be burned. After a few moments, and an understanding yet reluctant nod, Orihime stepped away. It took the half-healed hunk of arm flesh sticking out of Chad to break her focus from Ichigo and center herself around healing him completely.

Just as the battleground cleared for Ichigo to engage with Yammy, his stomach churned. The pain was jarring enough for him to alternate the grip on his Zanpakuto, loosening and clenching his fingers in an effort to manage it. He knew this pain, the kind of excruciating agony that came about whenever he got upset, the side effect of Urahara’s drugs. By now, he knew how to control his emotions when face to face with someone and, if he didn’t, he knew how to walk away, to spot that queasy feeling and call it quits. He hadn’t been angry at Orihime and his feelings toward Yammy were annoyance, at best. His thoughts and his stomach spun in a sickening harmony until the once delicious breakfast of grilled fish and steamed rice raced past his lips with a sickening lurch. 

Ichigo barely had time to think before the next mouthful of breakfast rocketed out of his throat and off his tongue, splashing into the grass to create a muddy dew. Frothy clouds of white and slimy streaks of brown surrounded Ichigo’s feet while he brought his hands up in a feeble attempt to stop it. Inbetween hurls, he brought all his attention to solving his sickness, of trying to find the why. But instead of solutions, there was a reflection in the puddle of sick that slithered around his feet. The face of his doppelganger, the so-called True Ichigo. “You shouldn’t be fighting with my Family, Ichigo. Let me talk to them. You’re not needed here.”

He tried to speak but his first utterance was replaced by the last of his breakfast. His throat was electric and raw, his mouth a sour miasma of bitter spit. He could barely even think but the words that popped into his mind were “Go away.”

His body reacted with a violent rebuke the instant those words crossed his mind and his stomach erupted with another wave of liquid, this time with a worrying shade of black. It filled and emptied from his mouth without warning or permission, spewing past his teeth and lining his gums with a tart, chalky pulp. The brownish puddle slowly formed into an ebony pool and gave Ichigo a clearer look at the dark self that called itself his better. It was smiling, leaning into the surface. “This isn’t a request, Ichigo. If you don’t let me speak to my Family, you’re going to hurt. Bad.”

Ichigo had been through his bouts of the flu and even a salmonella scare that nearly brought him to the hospital. There weren’t many illnesses that brought a sense of terror with their idea of pain he couldn’t quickly overcome, albeit with his daily bouts of complaining. Even the eruption of Mount Vesuvius that was his stomach was becoming more and more familiar to his particular threshold. It wasn’t until he looked up that he realized what True Ichigo’s idea of pain was and it had stricken him with the first two knuckles of Yammy’s fist. Mottled spots of purple bruising exploded along the side of Ichigo’s face just moments before his body hit the ground. His uniform splashed into the chunky oil slick he had been puking up the past minute while the impact between his back and the ground created a minefield of agony that raced up his spine. 

While Ichigo’s body tried to endure, his mind became locked in a battle of attrition with True Ichigo. Every “no” was followed up by a heel between his ribs and each cursing rebuttal of the doppelganger reintroduced him, hard and fast, to the ground. He couldn’t exactly place how long he was being bludgeoned by Yammy during his mental fight with the darkness within. What he could pinpoint, however, was the moment Yammy’s sadistic laughter stopped. Absent of his cocky cackling, there was an uneasy silence that not even nature wished to interrupt. Through his teary gaze, he was able to make out a purple ponytail whipping behind a shadow and the familiar smile of a shopkeeper. “U...ra..h….nnggh..”

“You know, Ichigo, you should probably stay away from public parks. They’re getting more and more dangerous by the day. Try the hermit life for a while, eh?” Urahara walked by his injured body and up to the scene of Yoruichi beating the shit out of Yammy. Of course, Yammy didn’t have the pleasure of seeing the Flash Goddess smack him around with the same ease as he had done with Ichigo but he could feel just how outclassed he was. In a matter of seconds Yammy was on his back and Ulquiorra was locking eyes with the devastating duo. Yoruichi kept a heel firmly dug into Yammy’s throat while Urahara addressed Ulquiorra. “Those symbols --  _ Greek _ , right? Supposed to represent Theta? Gotta figure they’re not just cool tattoos.”

“Hrrggkk! Yeah! They’re the last..nghhkk!...things heretics see...before they die!” Yoruchi felt her heel elevate along Yammy’s throat, suddenly riding a thick bulge that traveled into his mouth. Both she and Urahara cast a glance to the glowing Theta symbol on his head and the purple smoke that rose from his widening maw. A thick, viscous pillar of Nether exploded from Yammy’s mouth and ripped through the skies. The wide cone of his altered Cero had just barely missed the two but gave him enough distance to stand to his feet. Yammy’s heavy tongue flopped out of his mouth to lazily drag about his lips, slurping up the sticky flavors of sickly sweet charcoal before belting out with laughter. “I don’t  _ have _ to beat you to death. I’ll just melt your--”

“Indeed, you don’t, Yammy. Let’s go.” Ulquiorra’s shadow slithered across the ground before standing beside him in a mirroring stance. He forced his hand through its inky black torso and twisted his arm, much like a key in a lock, to open Puerta Umbra. The shadow splattered like ink on canvas to create a portal large enough for both himself and Yammy to walk through. 

“Whaddya mean?! After all this we’re just gonna  _ leave _ ?!” Yammy turned to look back at Ulquiorra but, this time, it wasn’t out of some nonverbal cue for permission. It was pure disbelief, almost disgust. Before he could let him answer, Yammy made his way across the battlefield of blood and vomit with wisps of black smoke rising from his widening jaw. “It’s  _ these _ pests who should be running!”

Yammy fired his Nether Cero at Yoruichi and Urahara once again but the Flash Goddess stepped aside and let the shopkeeper’s Zanpakuto, Benihime, do the talking. An arc of crimson Reiatsu danced off the edge of Urahara’s blade, ripping through Earth, wind and Nether. Yammy realized only too late that flesh and bone had also made the list. “ _ Scream, Benihime!” _

The Arrancar had raised his hand the moment he saw the red slash divide the filthy wave of Nether that came surging from his mouth. When the fact sank in that his fingers and his jaw were severed from his body, Yammy made a beeline to Ulquiorra’s portal, his eyes bulging with sheer rage. Instead of the cocky laughter that ebbed and flowed from his broad chest or the arrogant ramblings of a brute, there were only the sloppy, wet slaps of his singed tongue against the severed area his jaw should have been. Yoruichi confidently stepped back into view, piping up with haughty flair. “Retreating? That’s the first smart thing you’ve done today.”

“Do not boast in the presence of undeserved mercy, heretic.” While Yammy was already crawling into Puerta Umbra, Ulquiorra turned his head around to settle his cold gaze on Yoruichi and Urahara. “The only reason that you three are not dead is because of Lord Maharana’s mercy. Ichigo Kurosaki may technically be of the Family but he is still a child, not yet fit to join us in the coming days of glory. This visit was a reminder of what is to come and a warning for those who resist the Will of Achlys.”

The portal rippled like liquid against the backdrop of the park before blending into the shades of green and brown, evaporating. A moment of silence came before Orihime’s shock of what just happened was interrupted by the shock of Chad’s fully regenerated arm. She had retreated to his side with Ichigo’s previous recant and found herself equally amazed and afraid at the power she seemed to wield. Urahara, though, wasn’t as shocked as she was. He turned from Yoruichi, who was showing shades of curiosity in her wavering expression, and stood over Orihime as she inspected her hands. As if she were no longer human. “Don’t worry, Orihime. You’re fine. You did just fine.”

“What...the hell are you talking about?” Ichigo was already on his feet and putting that healthy dose of bravado to good use, just enough to convince himself that he may have just ‘won’ the encounter. It wasn’t enough, though, to save him the embarrassment of being smacked by Urahara’s fan the moment he got close. His stomach rolled again and, if not for the fear of puking on Orihime, he would have let loose another wave of bile. Instead, he dropped to a knee and started breathing like a spent dog. 

“Tsk tsk tsk! Being a Shinigami isn’t an excuse for falling behind in class. You’re an A student, from what I’ve heard, but I’m gonna give you a break since you just lost your breakfast.” Urahara‘s grinning face turned from Ichigo and back to Orihime, exchanging glances with her large, lost eyes. “Newton’s Third Law. You know it, right Orihime?”

Orihime nodded and blinked a bit, as if to drive her mind away from the absurdity that surrounded her and relax her into the dull, classroom setting she was comfortable answering in. “O-of course. Umm...for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction, right?”

“Very good, Orihime! You should tutor Ichigo sometime. He sure loves asking questions, right Ichigo?” Ichigo tried to rise to his feet in protest but was, again, swiftly reprimanded with Urahara’s fan. “He’s even forgetting what I’ve told him about keeping a cool head! Anyway, I’ve been looking into the plague, this Nether, trying to find out its opposing force. It seems as though Orihime here is in possession of that very force.”

Ichigo’s face calmed but turned to face Orihime, now sharing her sense of confusion and surprise. “Orihime….”

Orihime remained silent, her tongue too tied in what to say and her heart too heavy with what to feel. But Urahara pressed on. “I first observed it in the Soul Society when Orihime and Uryu encountered Captain Kurotsuchi. Uryu was neck-deep in the plague but you were able to harness the purifying energy and cleanse him. Then here, you were able to consciously summon it through your Shun Shun Rikka. On  _ both _ of these occasions, you put yourself in harm’s way.”

Yoruichi stepped forward with arms crossed beneath her bust. “Sacrifice, whether of one’s own life in exchange for another or sacrificing one’s own energy, seems to be the trigger.”

At the tail end of Yoruichi’s words, Chad jolted up into a seated position as a burning sensation shot through his arm. He gasped in pain and preemptively raised his other hand to signal that he was okay. He looked to Orihime while he rubbed his arm and flexed his fingers, wanting to be certain that everything was in its right place. “Thanks, Orihime.”

Orihime gave Chad a warm, generous expression in return but it barely lasted and was swiftly exchanged for one of mounting worry. “I don’t...I don’t know what this is. I didn’t ask for it. Ever since….ever since we went to the Soul Society, since that day, I’ve been feeling this strange, soothing sensation. Like strong menthol coursing through my body. Some nights, I even smell it.”

With his strength finally gathered, Ichigo stood to his feet and reached out a hand to try and pull Orihime up with him. His fingers became uncomfortably warm at the touch when he grabbed her shoulder and he instinctively pulled away. “What the hell…”

“Yoruichi, mind taking Orihime and Chad somewhere to recover from all this? I gotta have a little chat with Ichigo.” Before Ichigo could protest or question, the Goddess of Flash had vanished with Orihime and Chad in her grasp. The way in which she left and the absence of her bidding farewell to Ichigo in any fashion, put the young Kurosaki on edge. Though the tension between him and Urahara in that moment wasn’t comparable to that of him and the strange visitors, there was still an undeniable weight that let Ichigo know this was not just a chat. This was a  _ talk _ . “Are you taking the pills, Ichigo?”

“Yeah. Well, I usually just keep them on me whenever I feel myself losing my cool and I--” Ichigo’s swirling stomach solidified into a hard knot when he saw Urahara’s head whip around to look at him. Beneath that striped hat was a steely gaze, the response of a parent that glared at a child whose disobedience was not to be ignored.

“ _ Every day _ , Ichigo. You need to be taking those pills every day. If you run out, let me know.” Usually, in these sorts of situations, Ichigo could find either a source of levity to break out of his tension or lean hard into his virtually unlimited pool of teenage angst and rebel just as easily as the next hard-browed delinquent. But there was something eerily unsettling with the way that Urahara was staring at him, unflinching and unblinking, that slowed his heart to a lazy waltz. “Those two were Arrancars, marked property of Sinister and Aizen’s elite lapdogs. They’re not fucking around and neither can we. You have to focus, Ichigo. You  _ can’t _ let up, not even for a  _ second _ . Understand?”

Ichigo nodded, sick from anxiety rather than the plague. “They were talking about...some kind of family, cult shit. Know anything about that? What were those marks on their heads all about?”

“Take your pills and just be ready when they return. I have a feeling you won’t be facing them alone next time.” Urahara turned to walk away, stopping only once to utter his last command. “Keep your distance from Orihime. For  _ your _ sake and  _ hers _ .”

A new kind of emptiness carved through Ichigo’s body as the warm, noon winds kicked up the smell of aging vomit and fresh cut grass. That day, his tears flowed without sound.

  
  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 17 End_ **


	18. Black Sheep

_ "I don't care who they are, if they show even a bit of Reiatsu, we just kill them all.” _

  
  


  * Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez



  
  
  


_**Four Days Later - Karakura Town** _

Rukia’s eyes bulged to their limit, her mouth taut and wide. Any word that may have had a chance to eke out from between her lips was dripping down her chin amidst the swirls of saliva and blood, barely coming across as pained, short grunts. The pain that radiated from her bleeding belly was more than enough to force her still and the very thought of reaching for her Zanpakuto was quickly wiped away. Instead, her last conscious moments were marred by the cocky laughter and off-putting sentiments of the Arrancar whose fingers were writhing amidst her guts, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. His icy blue eyes were cast to Ichigo, who was trying to comprehend this evening’s turn of events. “So,  _ you’re _ the holdout, huh? The so-called lost sheep Father’s been goin’ on and on about? Tch! Ya look pretty fuckin’  _ raggedy _ to me.”

When Rukia’s body was thrown aside, leaving a heavy smear of blood along the streets, Ichigo rushed Grimmjow with his massive blade. Though the force of the swing was strong enough to tear gashes into the surrounding asphalt, its edge landed far too snug in Grimmjow’s grip. The Arrancar’s fingers started to grasp the flat of Ichigo’s blade and the teenager was soon reminded of his first fight with Zaraki. His eyes, his stance -- everything Ichigo absorbed in that brief respite was the definition of outmatched. Yet still, he persisted. Even in Grimjow’s parrying grasp, Ichigo continued to attack by driving his heels against the ground and hurling the Arrancar’s body through the air like the followthrough of a major league swing. “Bastard!”

“Nah, that’s  _ you _ . Least from what I’ve been told.” Grimmjow back flipped and caught himself in mid-air, feet skidding across thin air before settling on his own cushioning Reishi. He stared down at Ichigo with contempt while sliding his hands in his pockets. “I put your comrade on her deathbed and all you can do is try and hit me with  _ that _ petty shit? I don’t even know why the hell Father wants you. Lord Aizen wouldn’t even have much use for you and I’m not in the business of snuffing out weaklings. So, show me your Bankai.”

Even in his whirlwind of emotion, Ichigo was not safe from the intruding memories of his previous attempts at activating his Bankai. He had fully lost control when going against Byakuya and, with Yammy, he would have been at death’s door were it not for the intervention of Urahara and Yoruichi. The brief pause was picked up by the attentive Grimmjow whose preceding cackle filled the night sky and chilled Ichigo’s spine. Oddly enough, Grimmjow’s laughter only helped remind Ichigo that he couldn’t afford to let his emotions overtake him, that he had to keep his composure for everyone’s sake. Ichigo tightened the grip on his sword and uttered. “ **Bankai** .”

Out of the explosive blue whirlwind of Reiatsu, Ichigo’s black katana rushed to Grimmjow’s throat. But the blue-haired Arrancar wasn’t easy to pin down, nor was he so easy to pierce. In fact, as the next phase of the fight began, the frightening realization emerged that Grimmjow’s desire to see Ichigo’s Bankai was a taunt. No matter how quickly Ichigo moved his sword to cut or pierce, Grimmjow’s body seemed to move and sway, as if turning the whole fight into a dance routine. His hands remained in his pockets throughout the initial flurry while that cocky grin continued to shine in the moonlight. Ichigo soon caught on and started to implement his Shunpo to try and catch him off guard. The good news was that it brought Grimmjow’s hands out of his pockets, forcing him to take a more active role in the fight. The bad news was that it only further showed that Ichigo was out of his league.

Though Grimmjow had a Zanpakuto on his person, he didn’t need it to parry and block the swipes from Zangetsu. His hands did all the work. Every attempt to gut him or sever a limb was met with the dismissive smack one would give an overzealous child with a kendo stick, sometimes even breaking Ichigo’s stance entirely with one well-placed backhand. Soon, the tide of aggression turned and Grimmjow began to grab Ichigo’s blade without fear of being cut. Grimmjow yanked Zangetsu and Ichigo into close range before smashing his fist right against the teenager’s temple. Ichigo didn’t lose his desire to fight but he was starting to lose hope of ever landing a hit on Grimmjow, something that was cemented in his psyche when he felt Zangetsu being yanked out of his hands completely. “ _ Gimme _ this shit! You’re  _ pathetic _ !”

Ichigo tried to race around Grimmjow and retrieve his blade from mid-air but he had been baited, tricked into running right into a debilitating right hook that knocked a mouthful of saliva from his mouth and rattled his jaw. Grimmjow followed up with a left straight that crumpled Ichigo’s nose and blurred his vision. Before Ichigo knew it, he was staring down the finishing arc of a roundhouse kick that flung his body from the sky and jerked his neck around so forcefully, he assumed it was broken. His body dented the slender, steel body of a street light before being smashed into the thick asphalt of a four-way intersection. The dense smoke of his impact had barely formed by the time Grimmjow raced through it, standing over Ichigo with a cocky smile. “This,  _ this _ , is your  _ Bankai _ ? Tch! Ulquiorra said you were disappointing but  _ fuck me _ . Stand up.”

To Ichigo’s credit, he tried. With barely a minute given to allow him time to fully realize the damage Grimmjow had done to his body, Ichigo staggered along broken concrete to try and stand. The pain radiated through him like a sudden wave of warmth in the midst of a blizzard, shocking his senses and lighting his nerves on fire. His spine flared with jarring agony that spread to his partially numb limbs and his fingers were on a faulty autopilot, flexing and contracting mostly without his approval. Mottled bruises were already starting to appear on one side of his face, forming in an abstract shape reminiscent of Grimmjow’s fist. With Ichigo’s knees still slightly bent and head slouched to the side in pain, Grimmjow yanked him up the rest of the way by the collar of his robe. “Gotta do  _ everythin _ g, huh? Can’t fight, can’t dodge, can’t even fuckin’  _ stand _ . I’ve been here, what, five minutes?  _ Maybe _ ten? And  _ this _ is what I’m given?!”

Ichigo’s head hung, his eyes rolling from side to side while he desperately tried to get his shit together. Grimmjow aggressively placed him back on his feet and cracked his knuckles. It was that noise, something that should’ve been a dismissive sequence of cracks and pops, that was now loud enough to force Ichigo out of his beaten daze. On one hand, he was oddly thankful for it since he could start to build up a bit of confidence, some sort of stubborn determination to continue on. On the other hand, he was cursed to realize that the stance Grimmjow had taken up was that of a boxer. “Hnggkk….s..shit!”

He had become the unfortunate punching bag for this laughing sadist, hearing the swift crack of bone and split of muscle couple with Grimmjow’s howling mockery. Ichigo felt Grimmjow’s blows sink much further into his body than they should and saw blood sputter from his mouth like a lawn sprinkler with each hit. The hooks that broke his cheekbones, the jabs that painted his face red and the gut punches that emptied his stomach couldn’t touch that feeling of objectification. Being tenderized was putting it lightly but it was the best term his blurred thoughts could cobble together. Although he was miraculously still standing, his feeling of solidity and rigidity that reminded him that he could walk and talk and move was quickly being erased. Pain had given way to numbness and, soon, he couldn’t even hear the Arrancar anymore.

There were a few times where he wanted to rely on his martial arts training, to mentally bring himself back to judo class where he was proud to flip another kid onto the mat with his mom watching on. Proud. In this situation, he knew better and he wished he didn’t. Deafness was prefaced by a loud, droning ringing sound. Then came impaired vision, small circles of vision filled with Grimmjow’s sadistic smile and surrounded by cloudy black blotches. He wondered if this is what dying was actually like instead of the switch he was used to, flipping from dead to alive, clocking in and out of two realities depending on what he needed. He tried to convince himself that, since he wasn’t evacuating his bowels, he was still alive. Then, he saw someone who reminded him of that fact.

“You’re just going to sit there and watch him kill us? Are you this stubborn?” Grimmjow’s face had been replaced by the pale mug of True Ichigo in that narrowing field of vision. There was something about the sight of his contagious twin that struck a chill down his spine. It wasn’t the pale skin or the purple eyes, rather it was the disturbing amount of humanity that was present this time. He could have sworn just months ago, he had been fighting with some static blob in his inner world. But now, aside from the hair, the eyes, and the skin, he was the spitting image of Ichigo Kurosaki. Even his voice was starting to gain a more even timbre, lacking much of the fluctuating tones and deepening pitches that could confirm that he was just an evil reflection. Between being beaten to death and True Ichigo’s sudden intrusion, Ichigo couldn’t summon the words to respond. His doppelganger pushed on. “If you don’t let me out, he will kill us. Ichigo?  _ Ichigo! _ ”

When Ichigo’s hand reached up to catch one of Grimmjow’s punches with a deafening smack, the Arrancar knew that the young Shinigami had tagged out for someone else. He wanted to laugh when he saw the purple eyes, amused that he hadn’t come there just to challenge a glorified punching bag, but he never really got the chance to. True Ichigo’s transition into the Human World was quickly followed by him firing a Getsuga Tenshou without his sword. A violent gash of energy blasted diagonally against Grimmjow’s chest to send him hurtling through the skies, leaving him to skid across the air and catch himself. When his vision finally focused, he saw True Ichigo staring back at him with black and purple flames dissipating from his arm. Looking at his body, and the first degree burn that scorched him from hip to shoulder, he understood that this attempted murder had now become a fight. “About  _ fucking time _ ! I was wondering when I’d knock some sense into ya. Now that you’re finally awake, we can have a good fight.”

Grimmjow gripped the handle of his sword and pulled no more than half of the blade from its sheath before he felt Captain Tosen looking over his shoulder. Although he knew he was there, he didn’t dare to turn and look at the corrupted captain. His appearance and demeanor remained mostly similar but there was an unsettling anxiety that became nearly unbearable when addressing Tosen directly. From the unnaturally sleek, slender composition of his body via his dark clothing to his unblinking, full eyes, it sent waves of panic just knowing that he was giving one his undivided attention. Then there were the noises, those clicks and chirps and thorny rustles that came from the darkness of his body. It was the sound of a massive, and masterfully hidden, swarm of insects that sounded off at random, jarring times. At least, that’s what Grimmjow and the others had concluded. The one thing they knew for sure was that the chirp of a cricket was now synonymous with danger. “This is insubordination, Grimmjow.”

Grimmjow’s body froze upon hearing his captain’s words and let his hand steadily descend from the grip of his Zanpakuto. He looked straight ahead with furrowed brows while the thought of Ichigo quickly melted from his mind. “I was...trying to test the….to test him.”

“And you were the one who failed. You entered the Human World, with five Family members, without any explicit orders to do so. And you failed, Grimmjow.” Tosen’s hand came to rest on Grimmjow’s shoulder and the Arrancar flinched, his spine now solid ice. The normally boisterous Arrancar was now subdued with taut lips and widened eyes. He could never confirm it but he swore that, every time Tosen came in contact with him, there were bugs crawling just beneath his skin. The engraved Mark of Theta on Grimmjow’s forehead flashed with purple energy once Tosen’s grip tightened. “You understand what this means, don’t you?”

“....yeah. Let’s go.” Grimmjow swallowed hard and turned his back on True Ichigo to the subtle sound of chittering bugs. Of Tosen’s Puerta Umbra. The captain stepped through first, followed by half of Grimmjow’s body before the Arrancar turned to look down at True Ichigo with a determined stare. His grin was gone but his eyes cut through the night. “This doesn’t change a damn thing. The next time you see me, I’ll rip our blood right out of your veins. You don’t deserve it.” 

True Ichigo took a minute to absorb everything, from Grimmjow’s words to the futility of him trying to follow. It was a loss that everyone had to accept, whether they liked it or not. He darted across the city until he found Zangetsu, the blade sticking out of the deflated tire of a minivan and impaled through a few inches of concrete beneath. He returned to the crater that shimmered with pools of dark blood, scoffed and relinquished control to Ichigo. As soon as the teenager returned to his body, he caught the glance of Orihime healing Rukia’s injured body. She only gave him a short glance, one filled with concern and caution rather than the vigorous empathy he was used to. With that last blow dealt, he fainted.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


_**Hueco Mundo - Las Noches** _

Grimmjow and Tosen emerged inside Aizen’s throne room with a hushed reverence. It was a vast expanse of sleek obsidian and pale light of nondescript origin that was progressively devoured by an uncomfortable blackness the further one got away from Aizen’s elevated seat. Just as Tosen’s body had become more like an unnerving silhouette than a living, breathing person, Aizen’s physical mannerisms had also changed. His hair was slicked back to the nape of his neck with only a few stray locks of chestnut draped along the shape of his face. The purple in his eyes took on the crystalline structure of gemstones, almost mesmerizing. His skin was only a few shades paler and his clothing, a black facsimile of Shinigami garb like the others, was almost futuristic in its design --- sleek, form-fitting and simplistic Japanese fashion. Aizen’s calming voice came from a face half hidden in shadows. “Welcome back Captain Tosen, Grimmjow.”

“Lord Aizen.” Tosen bowed deeply before continuing. “Grimmjow’s insubordination has brought shame to the Family. Brazenly disregarding rules, inciting violence against Ichigo Kurosaki without any effort to assimilate and, most importantly, allowing his brethren to be slaughtered in the process. I can only recommend a reprimand of the highest caliber for such disobedience.”

Grimmjow’s eyes were locked on Aizen’s seated body but he was void of fear, instead letting his arrogance and determination wear through on his face. His brows furrowed tight. He was the very embodiment of defiance. Aizen let Tosen’s words sit in the air for quite some time before responding. “I appreciate the recommendation. However, I don’t believe Grimmjow has done anything untoward. In fact, he has done the Family a great favor.”

Tosen nearly lost his balance when Aizen responded and his focus was immediately shifted to his superior. “Lord Aizen…”

“Grimmjow, just like every other member of our Family, is fiercely loyal to the cause that the Father is fighting for. With that loyalty comes understanding. With understanding comes unity.” The engraved Mark of Theta in the center of Aizen’s forehead gleamed with Nether. “Which is why we are all connected through this sacred symbol from Father’s blessing. What he sees, Father sees. So, there is no possible way he would do anything out of malice toward the Family when even newcomers know that they are never alone in their actions. Because of this, I can only attribute Grimmjow’s desire to test Ichigo Kurosaki as a byproduct of his burning loyalty toward the cause. Just as Father would, he desires those who are truly committed while the half-hearted and lukewarm should be discarded. Isn’t that right, Grimmjow?”

“Yeah.” Grimmjow side eyed Tosen, barely comfortable with having him in his peripheral vision. “That’s right. I did it out of loyalty to the Family and I stand by what I said before. Ichigo is  _ weak _ . He doesn’t deserve to be a part of us.”

“That decision is not to be made by you, Grimmjow.” Tosen turned his head to face Grimmjow with one hand on the hilt of his Zanpakuto. “There was  _ no _ justice in sacrificing members of the Family for such a reckless, unsanctioned exercise. It was attempted murder. Nothing more.”

A cricket’s chirp preceded the quick severing of Grimmjow’s arm and black blood quickly splattered against the Arrancar’s expression of shock and anger. His lips went through a multitude of obscenities he could spew in a breathless rage before his remaining hand started to unsheath his own Zanpakuto, dashing toward Tosen. Grimmjow’s rage was a sufficient filter for the unnerving sensation that ran through his body the moment he set his eyes on Tosen’s body. “I’ll fuckin’  _ squash _ you!”

Grimmjow stopped but not of his own volition. His swift feet skid to a sudden stop once the rest of his body landed against Sinister’s looming body. His anger cooled and his heart started to race as his vision was blotted by the primordial being’s ebony muscle. While Tosen dropped to one knee, Sinister cradled one side of Grimmjow’s face against one of his massive palms. Sinister covered one ear with its size while he leaned over to whisper in the other. Aizen’s smile grew every time that Grimmjow’s face evolved from one of shock to fear to absolute horror. In ten seconds, the fire that sparked within Grimmjow was snuffed out, leading to him being released soon after. His sword sheathed, Grimmjow’s remaining arm instead occupied itself with holding the warm, bloody stump of what remained of his shoulder. With a passing glance given to his severed arm still laying on the ground, Grimmjow walked out of sight and faded into the distant darkness without another word.

“Tough love. Every family has it, I suppose.” Sinister turned to look at Tosen and nodded. “You may leave us, Kaname.”

Still kneeling, Tosen’s body slithered along his retreating shadow with the accompanying sounds of scuttling insects left in his wake. He passed over Grimmjow’s severed arm only to absorb it within himself and leave with the juicy, flesh-rending sounds of gorging bugs to cap his disturbing departure. Aizen snickered. “What did you tell the Arrancar?”

Sinister turned to Aizen with a stoic expression. “The truth.”

Although Aizen was seen as a great king and a lord among the Arrancars and his corrupted subordinates, he always felt as though he was treated as a mere child in Sinister’s presence. Where Aizen was used to having his words strike a challenge in every person he spoke to, Sinister’s responses, no matter how quaint and simple, were unrelenting. Every weakness his sharpened tongue hoped to expose was met by the indomitable force of the Maharana before him. Aizen scoffed with eyes lowering to squints. “Ichigo’s Nether seems to be getting closer to permanence the more we challenge his resolve. Grimmjow’s brash intrusion of the Human World only confirms Ulquiorra’s report that Ichigo is losing his grip, not only on reality, but on those around him. Soon, Ichigo will have no more options left.”

“Although the inevitability of my victory is something I don’t actively undermine, if there is  _ one thing _ I have learned from millennia of bringing this blessing to other worlds, it is that the light is stubborn.” Sinister turned to his side, prompting an image of Orihime to emerge from the darkness. “She wields the Aether, the antithetical element of the Nether. I have seen it and your Espada have experienced it first-hand. Someone with your vast intellect should understand the connection between my appearance and the sudden manifestation of this celestial property in someone so mundane.”

“A failsafe, I’m assuming. With how much you regale us about this pantheon of gods, your disruption of the status quo allowed for them to enact the activation of a force that naturally opposes your own. A light to the darkness.” Aizen reclined in his throne, an elbow pressed against his armrest and his cheek rested against his knuckles. “The very fact that these forces awakened the Aether inside Orihime only proves how much of a threat you are to their world and the creatures that live in it.”

“Oh? You believe her healing ability is that powerful?” Sinister continued to address Aizen but his eyes remained on the image of Orihime, studying her intently. 

“Healing is just  _ one _ aspect of it. Her Shun Shun Rikka allows her to, in the most blunt terms, reject reality.” Aizen’s smirk widened when he saw Sinister’s head snap around to lock eyes with him in response. “As you’ve said, you have been visiting different worlds for millennia but  _ ours _ works in mysterious ways. Gathering information through the surveillance marks of your Family and assimilating knowledge by devouring people may be a sufficient baseline, but you are in a world of ever-changing goalposts... _ Father _ .”

Sinister grunted. A silent point given to Aizen but no admittance of ignorance would dare leave his mouth. “I see. Then if she wields such magnanimous power, why was she in such a precarious position when approached by your Espada in the Human World? Surely she could have done more than given Yammy a few flesh wounds?”

“Her powers are weak, infantile, much like that of a freshly born god. She also has a great reluctance in using her power both because of her pacifist nature and an inferiority that is passively encouraged by her feelings for Ichigo.” Aizen tightened his fist to pop a few of his knuckles. “The only logical thing to do would be to kill her before she becomes an issue. Without the Aether, she may have been a worthwhile piece of bait but, if she’s being used by the Pantheon, she could make things extremely difficult in our procurement of the Ryoka. After all, the last thing we need on the brink of bringing him into the fold is the girl forcing our hand.”

“I appreciate your wonderful analysis, Sosuke. However,  _ killing _ her is not an objective I will pursue. I would much rather have her join the Family.” Sinister’s focus returned to the image of Orihime as his hand made small gestures, fingers slowly writhing in her direction. Orihime’s image changed from that of a schoolgirl to a gothic priestess, her eyes a piercing shade of purple and her hair a wave a raven strands. “Since she is still in the beginning stages of manifesting the Aether, it would be a much more strategic play to rend the Aether from her body and replace it with Nether instead. We would then have the Pantheon’s trump card in our hand. Then, once both potentials for their chosen champion of light have been snatched away, we will be in the best position to pick off their ranks and expose the weakness of their heresy.”

Aizen exhaled through his nose while his smirk slowly whittled away. “If that is the option we’re going to go with, then may I propose we accelerate this chess game with one of my recent experiments?”

Sinister waved the image of Orihime away, letting it vanish back to the shadows. “Do tell.”

“I’m in the final stages of a weapon that’s ensured to nullify Aether, which would leave every opposing force virtually helpless against our new power. We can capture Orihime, drain her of Aether and begin her blessing ritual as soon as you see fit.” Aizen’s smile returned, more malevolent than before. “I’m sure you can put the rest of this together.”

“Ichigo will come to try and rescue Orihime, bringing the rest of those barbaric Shinigami right to us. She will be bait, as you originally mentioned. Then we can divide and conquer before we create the Oken.” Sinister finally broke his serious expression to smile. It wasn’t a smile that seemed to reflect appreciation in Aizen’s suggestion or they had come to an agreement on what to do with Orihime but one that lingered for a while in the silence before his next words. The warmth that enveloped his face was far from comforting. It was as if something had finally clicked in his mind with this one conversation. “I am proud of you, Sosuke”

Aizen’s lips moved to speak but Sinister had already vanished, leaving him to smile to himself. Soon, he moved on to snickering while his hands shifted to rest at the end of his obsidian armrests. His body readjusted to sit up in his seat at the tail end of his laughter. The laughing devolved into short bursts of air from his nose, then long, heavy snorts. Eventually, he crushed one of his armrests and violently flicked a hand in front of him, releasing a brief shout of rage. The force of his gesture carved a lengthy gash into the sleek ebony flooring while the hand that made it sought respite in his sleek brown locks. Once his calm returned, Aizen crossed his legs and closed his eyes. “Yes. I’m  _ sure _ you are.”

  
  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 18 End_ **


	19. Soul Division

_ "A princess and a tiger, huh? Such excessive names! Our names mean 'monkey' and 'lewd!' I'm so jealous!" _

  
  


  * Hiyori Sarugaki



  
  
  


_**Morning - Vizard Warehouse** _

“Good to see ya, Ichigo. Welcome to---HAAAGH!” Shinji’s welcome was swiftly cut short by Hiyori Sarugaki’s signature  _ Super Harison Slipper _ , harshly moving him aside.

The sound of Hiyori’s sandal smacking Shinji echoed throughout the warehouse while she stepped up to get a better look at Ichigo Kurosaki, squinting her eyes and scrunching her nose. Though she looked more like some bratty kid in a red jogging outfit, she had all the grumpiness of an old man. She grit her teeth and scoffed while she slid her slipper back on. “Yeeeeaah, he’s got the  _ stink _ of one of us alright. But how do we know he’ll be cutting ties with those Shinigami? How do we know he isn’t some kinda  _ snitch _ ?”

“Tch. I’m not here to join you.” Ichigo paused and looked around the warehouse, littered with stray beams of sunlight and several other figures perched on elevated platforms. “I’m here to get help on how to control the plague. That’s it.”

Shinji sat up and rubbed the slipper imprint on the side of his face. “Your way isn't cutting it, huh? What made you change your mind?”

Ichigo didn’t respond but Hiyori did. “Heh! Sounds like his little Shinigami friends don’t like him spazzin’ out so much. He probably doesn’t have much of a choice, isn’t that right?”

Ichigo squinted at Hiyori, quickly becoming annoyed. “For your information, I’ve been doing everything I can to keep this thing in check. They gave me….drugs, pills, to suppress it. I’ve been trying to focus on positive thoughts, keep myself from becoming upset so it won’t take over. It’s just---”

“Hasn’t been working, huh? That’s because all that crap is gonna do is buy you time,  _ at best _ .” Shinji stood up and dusted off his trousers as he walked back to Ichigo. “This isn’t something you can just  _ think _ away and medication is only gonna do so much because it isn’t a purely physical infection. You’re gonna have to try some unorthodox methods.”

“You’re wrong. If it wasn’t for the Shinigami, the training, I wouldn’t even be  _ standing _ here right now.” Ichigo’s temples started to throb and his teeth grit.

“But you  _ are _ standing here, Ichigo, which is the problem. Whether you like it or not, you’re not one of them. Then again, we can’t exactly say that you’re one of  _ us _ , either.” Shinji smirked. “Not  _ yet _ , anyway.”

“Look, can we just cut it with the  _ bullshit _ ? Show me what I need to do to control this thing and I’ll be outta here.” Ichigo’s face twitched and twinged with equal parts irritation and a nagging, fresh pain.

“Oh? Barking orders isn’t going to get you what you want, Ichigo. If you’re not here to join us, we’re not going to be inclined to help you at all. So, why don’t you just go back to popping pills and meditating so we can---” Shinji barely had time to finish before he saw the flash of Ichigoi’s Substitute Shinigami Badge and Zangetsu’s edge headed right toward him. Shinji unsheathed his sword and quickly clashed with Ichigo, climbing the invisible steps of the air in their engagement while the others remained perched around them like a sparse coliseum. Though they seemed like equals at the beginning of engagement, Shinji quickly went from being on the defense to outclassing Ichigo in all aspects of sword fighting, something that forced Ichigo’s heart to race unrepentantly. The larger Zanpakuto was flicked away, parried and dodged with all the efficacy of a captain, of someone goading him rather than fighting him.

Suddenly, Ichigo broke away from Shinji and gained some space between them, adjusting his sandaled feet against the solid nothing in mid-air. He was much less irritated and more curious while he held his sword out in front of him. “....who the  _ hell _ are you? I can tell you guys aren’t like the Arrancar. No numbers. Your Reiatsu….it feels….”

“It doesn’t  _ matter _ who we are, Ichigo!” Hiyori moved Shinji out of the way with a well-placed kick to the face, sending him spiraling across the warehouse and through some wooden boxes. She took his place standing across from Ichigo with hands firmly planted on her hips. “What matters is that you haven’t done jack  _ shit _ to prove to us that we should help you.”

“Listen you little bra---”

“All  _ I _ see is some dumbass who came in here thinking he could boss us into solving his problems. So, here’s the deal,  _ strawberry _ .” Hiyori reached up to claw at her face and started aggressively peeling away the layer of fair, freckled skin. Her eyes shifted to a glimmering purple on a background of black, surrounded by new pale skin and darker freckles along her cheeks. Blonde pigtails exchanged their bright tone for jet black tufts spouting from either side of her head and that snaggletooth of a fang grew just an inch longer. “If you’re not gonna show us your worth, I’ll  _ beat _ it out of ya. Or kill ya. One or the other.”

“Hrrggk!” Ichigo couldn’t track Hiyori’s movement from standing across from him to having her knuckles digging into his stomach, knocking him toward the warehouse ceiling. Ichigo caught himself in mid-air just in time to bring Zangetsu up to block Hiyori’s katana. She was aggressive but not mindlessly so. Even with the plague taking over her body, it didn’t seem to take over her. Every swing of her sword had incredible strength but was just as precise and planned as any other trained swordsman, pushing him into corners and swinging for his head. Eventually, every parry started to cost him a knick here and a slice there, leaving Ichigo looking like he had lost a fight with a bundle of razor wire. He raised a hand to wipe a fresh stream of blood from the gash above his eyebrow, trying to keep his focus.

“You stubborn idiot! If all you’re gonna do is waste my time dancing around while I bleed ya out, I might as well quit messing around and just end this!” Reishi swirled around Hiyori’s body as she lunged at Ichigo and slammed her foot into his chest, smashing him against the concrete wall. She brought her blade down to try and slice through his face. “I bet you’re just a  _ faker _ , not even sick!”

“I’ll take that bet.” Hiyori’s blade shattered on its way to slice Ichigo and the fragments of steel embedded themselves into the surrounding wall. True Ichigo’s voice emerged along with his pale, malevolent body, his sword suddenly being sheathed into the thick wall of concrete he was previously pinned against. His hand clutched her throat with fingers immediately beginning to crush her neck, muscle fibers snapping and spine creaking under his might. He reversed their positions by slamming her against the fresh crater he was forced to sit in moments ago, watching her squirm. What frightened Hiyori the most wasn’t the fact that his hand had a vice grip strong enough to crush her spine or the sudden helplessness of the situation -- it was his expression. She could have anticipated the wild, snarling laughter of some psychotic beast or even Ichigo’s rage coming to the surface but True Ichigo’s features were chilled. The slight smile that formed from his lips carried a hint of pity, of superiority and smugness she would have expected from someone like Aizen. She knew this wasn’t just an outburst. She knew he would have no qualms about killing her, there and then.

With one hand busy trying to squeeze the life out of Hiyori, someone whose once ghoulish facade was shifting back to the fair-skinned innocence that reflected her mortality, True Ichigo’s other hand had snapped behind him to catch Shinji’s incoming blade. His neck turned about with a creepy confidence to have him bear witness to someone else who was willing to kill. He squinted when he saw Shinji’s dark half flickering in and out on his face and something tickled his mind, sharp but brief. “You aren’t like the rest of them... _ are _ you, Shinji?

The other Vizards were on True Ichigo almost immediately after he spoke with their blades focusing on different vital areas, from his neck to his groin, all of them ready to strike if need be. The only thing that kept the silence at bay was the gurgling pleas for help from Hiyori’s clenched throat. Once Shinji got a good look at Hiyori’s suffocation, his Reiatsu spiked, forcing the other Vizards to monetarily lose their stature. He pushed his blade through True Ichigo’s grip, slicing into fingers and palm to put the edge of his Zanpakuto just inches away from his eye. Whatever joviality Shinji carried with him was dropped. This was the voice of a captain. “You’ll find out if you don’t release her. Remove. Your. Grip.”

True Ichigo scoffed and freed both of his hands to let Hiyori fall off to the side and allow Shinji to hurriedly plant the possessed teenager back into the walled crater. While some of the Vizards went to check on Hiyori, who was coughing to the point of hacking up bile, others, like Lisa Yadomaru, were hesitantly standing by Shinji, wondering if his change was due to the Nether or if such a rage had always been buried there. Even in the presence of such growing power, True Ichigo smiled. “You can do it, you know. He’s not watching.”

But his smile soon waned when Shinji pulled his Zanpakuto back and flipped it so that he was gripping the blade, aiming the end of its hilt at True Ichigo. Shinji managed a smirk before striking True Ichigo’s forehead with enough blunt force to knock him unconscious, the crack of his skull echoing in the warehouse while his head went into a dismal slump. Shinji pulled his sword back and sheathed it. “Uh huh.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


“---because it’s too dangerous to try that. Did you sense his Reiatsu? If Shinji didn’t intervene then---” Ichigo awoke to the Vizards conversing but couldn’t really pinpoint what the subject was. When his eyes opened, a sudden rush of pain hit in in the center of his head, shocking his nerves and jolting him halfway off the ground where he had been laid. “Ah, shit! What the...who hit me?!”

“I did! It was about an hour ago but, yeah.” Shinji piped up and Ichigo’s sight soon returned enough so that he could see all of the Vizards surrounding him in a semicircle. Simultaneously, the light of some outside origin was basking his body in heat and the feeling of rough dirt and rocky terrain brought his mind back to the days of training with Yoruichi. “The  _ good _ news is that you managed to convince Hiyori that you’re indeed infected, like us. Trust me, that isn’t easy.”

Ichigo turned to see Hiyori standing over him with her little fang peeking out from her upper lip, arms crossed and face twisted into a scowl. Those yellow eyes of hers were practically daring him to say something smart. A bead of sweat started to trail down the side of Ichigo’s head but he decided to attribute it to the newfound heat of the strange wasteland he was in. While his eyes struggled to disconnect from Hiyori’s burning glare, he directed his words to Shinji. “So...what’s the  _ bad _ news?”

“Well, to put it plainly Ichigo, we can not allow you to leave this place.” Ichigo sat up on his knees while his eyes flicked over to the portly gentleman, Hachigen Ushoda. He was wearing a somber expression that contrasted his colorful appearance. “At least not until you can rid yourself of the inner being that is currently warring for control inside of you.”

“You mean you guys are gonna keep me prisoner?! Tch, I never should have come.” Ichigo tried to stand to his feet but Hachigen reached out to grip his shoulder. The push that forced him back to his knees elicited a gentle encouragement rather than threatening force.

“If you hadn’t have come, we would have had to hunt you down. You coming here, as Shinji previously assumed, was the best thing you could have done.” Lisa adjusted her red-rimmed glasses while she leaned against a small rocky pillar that jutted from the ground. “Those pills you’re taking might have helped at first but the Nether has gotten far too strong; it’s feeding off of something inside of you and becoming exponentially more powerful. The next time you lose control could be the last. By that point, containment and control won’t be options we can consider. You would have to be put down by force.”

“So! The last option left really is for you to face your inner demons. I’m sure you’ve visited your inner world before, haven’t ya?” Shinji walked past Ichigo and roughly patted his shoulder on the way to the other side of the field. It was only then that Ichigo realized that they had been sitting in a massive Kido barrier, its translucent orange haze nearly blending in with the environment. “It’ll be rough, sure but---”

“What’s...the barrier for?” Ichigo finally stood to his feet, watching the Vizards walk alongside Shinji and out of the one temporary exit from the barrier that Hachigen was holding open. 

Shinji paused right near the barrier door while the others passed him to stand outside. His hair draped over his eyes as he turned away from Ichigo, hands in his pockets. “In case you lose. Hachi, bind him.”

Before Ichigo could ask what he meant by binding, a bright light took over Ichigo’s vision. Just like that, he was out again.

  
  


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To say that Ichigo’s inner world underwent a transformation would have undermined the sheer lunacy that the once tall skyscrapers and urban landscape have devolved into. Though the sky was no longer a smog-riddled plane, it had lost a few atmospheres and gained the star-spotted blackness of deep space. Celestial bodies raced through the sky, blending together in lightspeed streaks and blurs like a Jackson Pollock painting. Night blanketed the city so completely that Ichigo had to watch his footing just standing up, feeling his way around the pillars of obsidian. The most striking change, though, was the silence. The only exceptions were the voices of Ichigo and his doppelganger, who was sitting across from him, cross-legged. “Hello, Ichigo. How are you feeling? Confident? Frightened? Confused? Or are all three fighting for dominance as much as I have the past few months?”

For the first time in his life, Ichigo felt empty. It wasn’t an emotional emptiness as much as it was a literal emptying of everything that made him up, as if someone cracked him open and spilled him out. There was nothing he could force from his mouth and what he could eke out in response was practically scripted from barebones instinct. He was used to having his friends beside him to offer him the strength to move forward. He had become acclimated to Zangetsu’s help in guiding him through the mysteries of his soul. But the chill in his bones, the deafening nothing that made him sweat --- this was what it meant to be alone and it scared the hell out of him. Staring at True Ichigo’s calm, confident face, he finally mustered up the courage to say something. He thought he was asking where Zangetsu was but all that came out was word salad from a dry mouth. “Whrr...sgtsu…”

“Heh. Hard to speak, isn’t it? Hard to do much of anything? I’m not surprised.” True Ichigo stood to his feet without rush or need and dusted himself off. His arm extended out as Ichigo’s sword, Zangetsu, materialized in True Ichigo’s grip. “I  _ think _ what you were asking is where Zangetsu went off to. Suffice it to say, I  _ absorbed _ him. Speaking of, I’ll have to apologize for my strange behavior back when we first met. He’s a being of pure instinct and guile, one of the most  _ honest _ parts of you. It took a while to assimilate him fully but it was well worth it. Of course, that was just  _ one _ part. The man in the sunglasses is much more resilient and finding  _ him _ is even more difficult, which surprises even me.”

“Wht..dy...wh...at do you mean?” Ichigo’s lips flexed and stretched, his tongue writhing about. He was trying to snap out of it, to focus on the danger that was taunting him. “Wha..t….do you mean….assimilated?”

“I’m surprised Zangetsu and that man never told you. Then again, maybe they had good reason. Unfortunately, I see no reason to keep you in ignorance for much longer. This will be our final conversation, after all.” True Ichigo released his grip on his sword and, instead of dropping to the sleek, black building he was standing on, it continued to hover in place. “Your soul is fragmented, Ichigo. Into many different parts, pieces that the gods of this world would have used to turn you against yourself. But, through me, you can achieve the ultimate unity of all these parts. From Zangetsu alone, I have perfected your technique and tamed your instincts, honing them to a finer point. By unifying all of you into one, indestructible force, I will achieve your true potential.”

Ichigo backed away, reaching hesitantly over his shoulder until he found the grip of his own Zanpakuto. He swung it out in front of him and let his strength, his confidence, rest there. “What kinda batshit….”

“Trust me, Ichigo. The things I’m telling you are the furthest from insanity. In fact, you should have been told the truth about yourself much earlier.” True Ichigo sighed as a black chain crawled out from the hilt of his version of Zangetsu. The writhing chainlink bored into his wrist, beneath the skin and wrapped around the collective bones of his forearm before stopping. “You’ve been lied to your entire life and, worst of all, it’s been from the people closest to you, people you were supposed to trust with your life. But Sinister, the Father, he wants to  _ free _ you from this life of lies. You are nothing but a  _ tool _ , an  _ asset _ to the people in your life. When you join the Family, you’ll see. Through  _ me _ , you’ll understand.”

“I don’t…. _ want _ to understand! I want to  _ destroy _ you!” Ichigo’s grip on his sword tightened and his body tensed, holding on to the anger beneath all that confusion. It was his anchor now. “Once I get rid of you, I’ll take out Sinister, Aizen and this whole damn Family!”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be able to do that, Ichigo.” The black chain in True Ichigo’s arm started to writhe, coiling just beneath the skin. “Because if you destroy  _ me _ , you’ll destroy  _ Zangetsu _ . I’ve become one with your Zanpakuto. So, like it or not, this is  _ my _ home now.”

“ _ Bullshit _ !” Ichigo leaned hard into his anger and cast his confusion aside, reverting to the adrenaline that brought him this far. He swung his massive blade across to cut into True Ichigo but the latter had parried it with his own Zanpakuto. With one yank of his ghoulish chain, he brought his floating blade to meet Ichigo’s and flung him back with the arcing momentum of his strike. Instead of taking a fall or skidding back on his feet, Ichigo found himself floating through the air, being carried by the momentum of his doppelganger’s strike. Neither his grasping limbs or his attempt to anchor himself with Reishi worked. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t regain control.

Ichigo kept his sword out in front of him, hoping that he could at least maintain a line of sight with his doppelganger. But the moment his focus returned from his helpless drift to his opponent, he was gone. That’s when the silence returned, the idea of the speeding celestial sky and their first sword clash being completely silent. There was a numbness that carried from minute to minute while he looked around frantically for True Ichigo and, whether or not it was intentional, it whittled his anger down to fear. Then, he felt it, the hot sensation that ensnared his entire right hand. The pain followed quickly after, forcing his fingers to flex erratically and release his Zanpakuto. Ichigo reached out to try and snatch the sword back with his left hand only to pull it back at the last moment, feeling an intense pang of danger nearly strike him from the air. The other Zanpakuto silently zoomed past him toward the colorful sky, missing his face by mere centimeters.

Ichigo couldn’t waste time being mesmerized by how oddly beautiful his dark blood blossomed from the deep gash in his wrist, swirling into abstract shapes. His eyes looked down to see True Ichigo walking up the side of a building, the same building that Ichigo had hoped to land against but was just out of reach from. Every step he took toward Ichigo, while silent, was excrutiating. “Brute force won’t work against me, Ichigo. You can’t hack and slash your way out of the fate that’s been chosen for you, for  _ us _ . But don’t worry. You don’t  _ have _ to fight anymore. That’s why I always take over your fights. That’s why you’re in the position you’re in.  _ I’m _ your strength, and unlike you, I never exhaust.”

So much attention had been paid to the doppelganger’s slow, deliberate walk up the building and what methods he could possibly use to keep him at bay, that Ichigo’s heart nearly stopped when, out the corner of his eye, he saw the doppelganger’s chain come racing back. His head snapped up just in time to see the massive Zanpakuto retract back down like a guillotine and everything in him stopped. His last gesture was the feeble attempt at stopping the blade with his bleeding hand outstretched, watching dark red droplets rush out to splash against the gleaming blade. But his blood soon hit something else, something familiar that came with the voice of Zangetsu. His vision was overtaken by the stylish jacket his blood had just barely stained. “Ichigo!”

“Old Man Zangetsu!” Ichigo blinked rapidly and came back to reality, feeding off of the urgency in his voice for strength. 

“Do not listen to this shadow, Ichigo. It will do anything it can to break you down so that it can devour you. “ The black chain was yanked again and Ichigo’s eyes looked back down to see True Ichigo starting to run alongside the building. “Listen to me, Ichigo! There is one memory, one fragment of yourself that it fears! One piece of you locked deep within this world that can break his hold! You must find this piece of yourself before the darkness devours you completely! Go, Ichigo!”

Asking questions wasn’t allowed, neither was Ichigo’s usual, stubborn teenage rebellion. By the time Zangetsu had finished speaking, Ichigo had been thrown hard enough to make his surroundings look just as blurry and hectic as the sky. He found that, at some point, gravity started to come into play again and his body went from being flung horizontally to falling vertically. It was as if he hit an invisible wall where the laws of nature suddenly started to make sense again, wind whipping at his cheeks while pearls of lightning flashed before him. The deafening shockwaves of thunder covered up his own surprised screams while he flailed during his speedy descent. His surroundings had become a slurry of black and gray and the pouring rain that started to drench his body was the final piece needed to complete his disorientation. 

Everything stopped once he hit the water, a rushing river that snatched him from the sky as soon as he touched its surface, dragging him under with only his bloody hand flailing from the depths. Nature had gone from a still, sterile observer to an active participant in a matter of minutes. His limbs thrashed in the river’s mighty grip, breath hitched from taking in a steady flow of water and his ears rumbled from both the thunder and the rushing gurgles of the current. In spite of that, even with the chaos driving Ichigo to the point of submission, there was one thing he could make out, one thing that came to him loud and clear. It was a voice, not loud, not particularly overpowering but surprisingly clear. Persistent. “I’m right here! Hurry! Grab my hand!”

With all the strength he could muster, Ichigo jerked his head out from beneath the water and saw a figure, dressed from head to toe in hooded rain gear, running alongside the river. Their rubber boots hit hard against the concrete that ran along the bank and their hand flailed insistently at him, teeming with urgency. The first jerk of his body brought him closer to the figure’s outstretched hand but the water swept him back, pulling him back underwater. He took a mouthful of air with lungs burning, nostrils snorting bubbles of mucus and, soon, blood. His body was being ground by the strength of the water, draining what little energy he had left. For a moment, he thought that he was genuinely going to die, that these would be his final moments. And, as terrible as it was, his mind was slowly accepting it. 

His arm still outstretched and fingers lazily dancing between raindrops, Ichigo gave it one last try, resigning himself to the darkness beneath the waves if he missed again. This time, he flung his entire body with what energy remained and felt a sharp jolt when the figure dug their nails into Ichigo’s extended fingers. Only then did he feel how desperately this person wanted to save them, how devastating it would be for them to lose him. In one fell swoop, his body was yanked free from the river to land with the hooded figure in a strip of wet grass. The figure was the first to get up, hurriedly propping Ichigo’s body up against the side of steps leading from the river to an upper plain. The small overhang, jutting from the ground at an odd angle, gave them just enough space to dry off.

The figure pulled out a handkerchief from the deep pockets of their raincoat and started wiping the blood and mucous from Ichigo’s face, even dabbing along his nose while he coughed. In the midst of it all, Ichigo started to relent from how peculiar the figure was acting about cleaning his face. “Hggkkk! Nggh..ahh...kaaay...okay okay, already!”

When the figure chuckled in response, Ichigo stopped squirming and stared at the half-hidden face of his rescuer. When they spoke, tears came to his eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit, my little strawberry.”

Ichigo grabbed the figure’s hand and reached up to snatch off their hood, weeping like a child. The embrace was automatic. For the first time in years, he was crying in his mother’s arms.

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 19 End_ **


	20. Mama

_"I understand how you're always thinking about your mother and the Quincy as a whole. Always considering what's best for the future, taking into account all the consequences of your actions. And I honestly admire the way you're able to do that. But you see, I'm not you, Ryuu-chan. To me, "taking proper care of myself" means making sure I do what I can in the here and now. Because if I decided not to take action because of rules and customs and somebody died because I did nothing, I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself for that.”_

  
  


  * Masaki Kurosaki



  
  
  
  


“How...how can you…” Ichigo pulled his soaked face from his mother’s chest and looked up at her smiling face with bloodshot eyes. He was surprised there was any moisture left with how much he’d cried. But that same sorrow that had enraptured him earlier had taken to anger, a demand for truth and a refusal of the person who sat in front of him. “Is this a dream? Am I dead? Did he kill me?! Answer me!”

Masaki didn’t reprimand Ichigo, nor did she appear shocked. Instead, she leaned away from him to give an ample amount of space and sat on her heels. Though the rain continued to slap against the Earth, her words came just as clear and direct as they did just minutes ago. “I suppose the fairest thing to do, for both you and for...Masaki is to tell you that I am not your mother, Ichigo. At least not in the sense you intended to be.”

“What?! You’re not...making sense…” Ichigo was caught in a crossroads of emotion with only the dense concrete of the stairwell wall acting as his strength. He didn’t know if he wanted to bawl his eyes out from frustration or lash out further at the woman that saved his life, the mother who may not have been. “Just...tell me…”

Masaki picked up on this and initially started to reach out before pulling her hand back. But Ichigo snatched it back with both hands, every hiccup in his subdued sobbing forcing him to squeeze. He chased that comfort. “Ichigo...a part of Masaki has been a part of you ever since she passed. I’m sure you’ve felt it. It’s her memory, her purity, that’s been guiding you all these years. But once the plague took hold, it shrank every day.”

“You’re just a...memory.” Ichigo turned away, dejected by the new information. He was starting to access a completely different level of sadness, the kind of pain that solidified in his chest and made his body feel like lead. It was the despair of fruitless struggle, a disappointment that made his eyelids lower and his shoulders droop. He’d gone from leaning against the wall to slumping against it like he had just been shot. “Every night….every _night_ , I remember that moment before it happened, reaching out to save you. I remember trying to….to….”

Masaki placed her other hand atop of Ichigo’s, feeling him begin to claw into her palm, practically shaking from emotion. “Ichigo---”

“And I...I thought that _this time_ , it was different. That this time you were safe. Even now, I can feel the warmth, the weight. Even...even your voice.” Ichigo’s orange locks draped over his eyes, casting a shadow to leave only his mouth exposed. “But I should have known better. The dreams, the cemetery, even my mind --- they’re all phantoms. Lies.”

“Ichigo, I can promise you I’m no lie!” Masaki’s grip intensified and the sound of sobbing brought Ichigo’s attention back to her face, almost feeling ashamed that she had been brought to tears. “I may not be Masaki in flesh and blood but I am your mother’s heart, her fight and I will _keep_ fighting for you, Ichigo, even if you don’t...if you…”

They both submitted to the noisy sizzle of torrential rain, nature’s static that filled their ears and washed away their assumptions. Once they collected themselves, their eyes met again and, this time, Masaki’s desperate, endearing smile was returned by Ichigo. When the latter spoke, it came with an undercurrent of understanding, a putting away of childish things. “I’m surprised I still remember your face so clearly.”

“The only face that could stop you from crying.” Masaki let a bit of warm laughter slip but Ichigo’s own chuckle encouraged even more. They stopped digging at one another’s hands, stopped searching for a reality they both knew they couldn’t have, and let their hands rest with each other. By now, they couldn’t even hear the rain. “I wish I could sit here and watch you forever, Ichigo. But if the darkness isn’t cleansed from your body, we’ll both disappear.”

Ichigo nodded, his expression more attentive than before. “You must be the light that Zangetsu was talking about, that small piece of me.”

“Yes. I have been here with you through all of this but, in order to fight this plague, you must fight to save, not to destroy. Even this evil that clings to you, Ichigo, has to be given peace.” Masaki looked down at their entangled hands. “I know you lose your temper, that you’re headstrong. But you have to root your strength in peace, in resolution. Not destruction. That is what the Aether binds to.”

“The...Aether?” Ichigo’s brows arched. “Wait...I remember Urahara saying something about the Aether. Orihime used it.”

Masaki nodded. “That’s right, Ichigo. It’s a powerful element that represents everything that your doppelganger isn’t. It’s the element of the gods, the foundation of life and virtue. Through your love for me, your willingness to protect your friends and your desire to do the right thing, you have always had the potential to wield it. But you have to wield it carefully. You have to be willing to put everything on the line for the sake of others.”

“Sacrifice.” Ichigo straightened up against the wall, exhaling. “But how do I _use_ it when fighting against him? It’s not like I can just keep turning the other cheek and expect things to be okay.”

“You fight to protect. To save. Just like how you fought to save me on that day and how I fought to pull you from the water.” Masaki reached a hand up to stroke at Ichigo’s cheek. “There will always be times where the storm rages, the lightning flashes and the river rushes without end. If you focus on stopping the storm, on what you can’t control, it will tear you apart. Instead, focus on saving the innocent from the storm. You shouldn’t be trying to put an end to the rain, Ichigo, because, no matter how hard it falls, it always ends. You have to let the waves crash against themselves. Do you understand?”

“I guess. And if I don’t, I’ll do my best until I do.” Ichigo’s face wasn’t completely confident but it tried to be and that was enough to earn him a kiss on the forehead from Masaki. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers, feeling a warmth envelop his body. When his eyes opened, all he could see was pouring rain. He placed a hand over his heart, feeling the warmth intensify, spreading from his chest to his fingertips to set him ablaze with a cyan aura that expanded out from the stairwell. His slow, intentional breaths forced the energy to pulse, expanding out to calm the river and fend off the storm. Ichigo stepped out from beneath the stairwell and cast his eyes skyward. His sudden flight formed an explosive burst as Ichigo’s body shot through the skies, becoming lightning.

  
  


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In the cosmic, twisted metropolis of Ichigo’s inner world, Old Man Zangetsu’s body danced to the movements of True Ichigo’s enormous Zanpakuto. A heavy swing to cleave the neck, taunting stabs, tricky whirls of the sleek black chain --- all manners of movement were used to confuse and further torture Zangetsu with the possibility that, at any moment, he could end up like his other half. The doppelganger’s cackling, taunting laughter in the midst of the silent sways of his blade made the experience all the more harrowing. Or at least that’s what he wanted the doppelganger to believe.

“Enough!” Zangetu’s hand shot out to grab True Ichigo’s blade and swung him against a nearby building, glass sluggishly exploding. The fractal shards reflected the doppelganger’s smug grin and Zangetsu’s determined stare while the latter’s free hand began to glimmer with a blue energy. Before the handle of a blade could form between his fingers, he felt a hand lower his arm and a bright cyan glow wash over him. He quickly turned to see Ichigo staring at the pinned True Ichigo while patting Zangetsu’s arm.

“Mom said it’s my turn to play. I got this, Zangetsu.” He didn’t need to say anything to Ichigo to confirm. He felt it, he saw the resolve on his face, a resolve stronger than he could hope to muster. Offering only a nod, Zangetsu faded away into the teenager’s shadow while Ichigo gave his doppelganger a look of pity. “You were right. This is gonna be our final conversation.”

True Ichigo’s smug expression soon twisted into one of confusion and annoyance as he vanished from place to stand atop the air across from Ichigo, letting his Zanpakuto hang by its chain. “Why are you coated in that _filth_?!”

“I’m starting to understand why you’ve been so determined to take over my body, why you’ve been eating away at different parts of me. And why you’re looking at me like you wanna cut me in half.” Ichigo extended his arm out as his eyes flashed blue. His Zanpakuto silently rushed through the air from a distance, called to a hand that snatched it up by the handle and aimed it at his doppelganger. “You and this plague, you’re gluttons. You’re a void that wants to feel full, satisfied, secure in your identity. But you don’t have one. You may _look_ like me, you may _sound_ like me and you may even try to _fight_ like me but you’re not. And no matter how much you eat away or how strong you _think_ you are, hatred can _never_ triumph the inner peace every single person holds deep inside. Violence and destruction only get so far before they stop being the solution and start being the problem. _This_ is as far as you go.”

The growing look of annoyance on True Ichigo’s face only further supported the fact that he wasn’t listening, that his stubborn mind was anchored to his own desires. “I asked you a _question, Ichigo! Why are you wielding Aether?! How did you find it here?!_ ”

“All this time, I was scared of facing that memory, that look of my mother. That failure. But I realized that, even in death, she fights for me. She shields me. She protects me. And not even _you_ can break through her guard.” Ichigo’s cyan aura flared up and, surprisingly, broke the silence. The vigorous rush of air, the final shards of glass shattering from the window, and the crumbling of concrete could all be heard now. The sky split and shed its cosmic veil to reveal streaks of blue with rays of sunlight beaming down on the ebony cityscape. Surprisingly, instead of steadying himself for a full-frontal assault or a scream of frustration, Ichigo heard his doppelganger laugh.

“You really _are_ stupid, Ichigo. But I can’t blame you, not entirely. Did your dead mother happen to tell you what happens when Aether and Nether become active in the same vessel?” True Ichigo yanked at his black chain and held his Zanpakuto in front of him to mirror Ichigo’s stance, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Total annihilation.”

“What?!” Ichigo’s eyes widened and fear steadily crawled up his spine with sudden, hot pricks. “What the hell do you mean?!”

“Aether and Nether are polar opposites of one another. That’s why anyone wielding one will always have a sensation to stay away from someone wielding the other element. Kind of like a sixth sense of danger. But since _you’ve_ chosen to wield Aether and _I’m_ a wielder of Nether, we’ve got an explosive case of yin and yang going on.” True Ichigo looked off to the side, as if thinking. “Mmmm. Five minutes. I give it _five minutes_ before you and your new pals are destroyed from all this. One of us has to go but don’t worry! I’ll be sure to kill you quickly and restore the equilibrium. I’ll try to make it painless.”

With winds whipping through their robes and their respective auras blazing around their bodies, they both shouted. **_“Bankai!”_ **

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


“I’m done! Take over, Kensei!” Rojuro Otoribashi’s luscious yellow locks were frayed and worn, similar to the black suit he donned. He dashed away quickly with the golden whip of his Zanpakuto, Kinshara, and kept his eyes locked on the horned beast that was once Ichigo. Blood spilled from his wounds with each step he took toward the Kido barrier’s exit, collapsing to his knees once he finally made it out. 

Kensei Muguruma stepped inside the barrier just moments before it closed again and immediately activated his Shikai, Tachikaze. He snatched the combat knife from the air and listened to the amalgamation of animal noises that crawled from the horned beast’s throat, watching it swing its Zanpakuto to the side and stomp as if beckoning him. Running through a field of dust and blood, Kensei’s war cry signaled the start of his gruesome shift.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


The fierce clashing of blades between Ichigo and his doppelganger was periodically interrupted by the urge to brawl, to pull away from techniques and maneuvers and end their fight as quickly as possible. Ichigo’s flurry of fencing jabs soon took a backseat to his doppelganger smashing his face against the side of a building. True Ichigo’s dogged pursuit to decapitate or bifurcate Ichigo in a single blow was blunted by Ichigo parrying the swings in such a way as to suffocate him with his own chain. In the panic of their imminent destruction, they both lost sight of their original goals and leaned hard against their primal need to survive, to be Ichigo. Or to die.

“Hahahaha! You’ll _never_ beat me that way, Ichigo, and time’s running out!” True Ichigo feinted a downward slash only to jerk his body around for a spinning slice through the neck. To his shock, his wrist was caught, stopping him just before the blade could make contact. He struggled and squirmed in Ichigo’s vice-grip while the doppelganger’s skin started to sizzle, steam rising from his flesh. When he looked up at Ichigo, he saw the same look of pity he had given him before and his teeth gnashed like a crazed animal. It was the same look of overwhelming confidence that Byakuya had given him, that broad gap of power that was personified in one, stoic gaze. Everything inside him started to shrivel as the silence crept back.

“It’s not about you. It’s about me. About cleansing myself from the sins I’ve been carrying around for years. The hatred against myself.” Ichigo’s speech wasn’t loud or abrasive in its tone but it was just as shockingly clear and personal as Masaki’s when he was rescued from the river. There was nowhere to run from these words, from this truth, and Ichigo’s grip only furthered that to the point of snapping the bones in his doppelganger’s wrist. The sudden, loud pop was coupled with a short shriek from True Ichigo. “You fed off of it while I ignored it. I let you fester. I let you grow. But not anymore.”

Black blood whipped through the air as Ichigo tore his doppelganger’s arm off from the shoulder, liberating it with a wet squelch and firm, reluctant snaps of bone and muscle fiber. But he didn’t discard it. While True Ichigo backed away and switched his Zanpakuto grip to his remaining hand, Ichigo interlocked his fingers with that of the severed limb. Slowly, the limb broke apart into a grouping of flickering lights and sank into Ichigo’s body. Memories of him punching holes in tear-soaked walls briefly flashed through his mind before his vision returned to the fight at hand. “I’ve learned you can’t let the darkness fester and you can’t ever really get rid of the pain that started it. You have to _face_ it. _Accept_ it. Then move past it. What I don’t have to accept is _you_ , this _cult_ nonsense. No one is going to tell me how to live or what I should live for. Not _you_ , not the _Vizards_ and _not_ the Shinigami. I’ll fight to cleanse the darkness and cleanse myself.”

 _“You fool!”_ True Ichigo swung his sword by its chain with great abandon. He had lost the ability to firmly grasp the sword’s handle or his sanity, both of which allowed Ichigo to easily parry his crazed blows. While the doppelganger’s body could barely sit still in its urgent need to kill the original, Ichigo only needed to move one arm while the rest of his body fell into a steady procession toward True Ichigo. When he saw that his wild sword strikes couldn’t make a lasting impact, his mouth started to conjure vile hypotheticals and toxic distractions. Anything to get him off his game and create the slimmest window for him to land blade against flesh. “You _do_ know what will happen once I kill you, _don’t you_ ? I’ll kill those Vizards, then I’ll go see that sweet girl, Orihime. I’ll make her carry a part of me, force her to carry my new legacy. She’ll learn to accept it. Then I’ll _strangle_ that _bitch_ Rukia for making my evolution so _difficult_ . Hell, I’ll even wipe Karakura Town _off the map_ ! I’ll eliminate the heretics, all for the Family. _All for the Father_!”

“You sound pretty upset.” True Ichigo’s annoyance exploded into full-fledged fury as he snatched his blade across the edge of Ichigo’s Zanpakuto, triggered by Ichigo’s words. Ichigo, on the other hand, absorbed everything that his doppelganger said. He would have been lying if he said it didn’t bother him but the perturbation of his words came less like a smack to the face and more like some foul scent he had learned to acclimate to. He acknowledged what he said but he didn’t accept them into his spirit or allow his mind to be muddled by their poison. For all intents and purposes, Ichigo had become immune. Rage was no longer his master. The shift of power was so effortless, so undeniable, that True Ichigo could do nothing but scream. “There’s nothing there, is there? Nothing in the darkness. Once you dig past the hate, the anger, the false satisfaction of vengeance, you learn that you were just an engine for it all to be expressed. You become _nothing_ , another blot in the darkness.”

 _“SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH! I AM ICHIGO KUROSAKI!”_ True Ichigo hurled his sword around his body in a short orbit while he tore off the upper part of his robe, snatching his Zanpakuto back into grip by its chain. The sudden choking yank of the blade’s leash elicited a sharp metallic pang as black fluid dripped from its edge. Black veins pulsed just beneath the doppelganger’s skin like thick, industrial cables, carrying blood to and from the tumorous heart that formed a grotesque outline on his chest. Every visible pump churned the viscous black muck through his body, fueling his blinding rush to clash against Ichigo in a repetitive, childish flurry. “I am your _better_ , Ichigo! I am above _you_ , in _every_ way! I am the _true_ son of the Father!”

Unfortunately, the doppelganger’s words fell upon deaf ears. He was faced with the stoic calmness of Ichigo and the near-effortless parries coming from his one-handed strikes. True Ichigo started hurling Getsuga Tenshou at Ichigo, which decimated skyscrapers in the area but failed to do much else but steel the determined expression that was forming on Ichigo’s face. Every black and purple mass of energy was flicked off the edge of Zangetsu, denying the doppelganger any victory, any sense of control. As Aether blazed around Ichigo, the sky continued to shred through the cosmic mask and, eventually, revealed the blinding morning sun that lit the darkness aflame. Dark embers soon warped blue and True Ichigo’s body smoked, leaving his haggard swings little more than pitiful theatrics. In the midst of his suffering, True Ichigo paused and stared deep into the eyes of the teenager who had finally set his feet on the path to becoming a man.

In the reflection of Ichigo’s glowing pupils, the doppelganger saw his own face. Fair skin had begun to slough from black muscle, pulled away bit by bit from the breaking strings of dark fat and blood. His jowls trembled as he pointed his sword at Ichigo, teeth chattering and eyes watering from the realization that the truth he so aggressively tried to push was now falling away from him. He was caught between wanting to drop his sword to put himself back together and putting everything he had into rending Ichigo asunder, a last-ditch effort in making his delusions a reality. But his indecision was his downfall. As he mouthed another expletive and brought his body forward to try and slice into Ichigo, the flames of his dark Getsuga Tenshou barely flared along his arm, he found himself stuck. Black blood exploded from his chest and onto Ichigo’s blade.

“You are a shadow. Your place is _behind_ me, at _all_ times.” The doppelganger heard Ichigo’s voice coming from behind him and realized that he had been impaled through the back, finally looking down to see Zangetsu piercing his black heart. He then turned to see that Ichigo was facing away from him, another dose of salt in his wound, and grit his teeth tight with blood oozing through the cracks. When the doppelganger dropped his sword, gripping Ichigo’s blade instead, it started to burn and assimilate into the teenager just as his other arm did. Another memory flashed in Ichigo’s mind all the while. He felt his trembling hand. He saw Yuzu’s glazed eyes as she stood in the doorway of his bedroom, shakily holding his dinner and looking at him in genuine confusion. He remembered telling her the knife was just for food, telling her how sweet it was for her to bring him dinner. He remembered thirteen. Then, he exhaled. 

“You just made the worst decision of your life. Even if you suppress me, you’ll _never_ get rid of your rage, your insecurities, your darkness. It _will_ grow again, as will I! -- hnggk!” True Ichigo’s body started to burn away in a blinding blue light, rising from his feet and scorching through his torso. He let out a chuckle as he hung from Ichigo’s blade, spewing out his last few mouthfuls of black blood. His head tilted slightly while he looked up and off to the side. He came down from his tantrum and, reluctantly, accepted his current fate. “You’ll _never_ escape the Father’s influence. Once you’re in his presence again, you’ll come to understand just how _weak_ your morals are. Believe me when I say that this fight has already been won.”

When the Aether started burning away at his navel, with cyan flames lapping at his chest, Ichigo experienced a flood of memories that nearly made him convulse. The Pluses that watched him sleep. The minutes that passed as Orihime’s brother, bloody and battered, died in their clinic. The countless hours wandering obsessively along the riverbank. As the final memories poured into his mind, he felt a strong weight on his blade and looked over his shoulder to see that his doppelganger was trying to regenerate. Instead of arms, inky stalks burst out from his shoulder stumps with one of them reaching to grab Ichigo’s throat. The doppelganger’s face had elongated enough to easily swallow Ichigo’s head and the fair skin had completely fallen off to reveal charred bone and oozing ichor. But before his tongue could lash out with its serrated taste buds, his incinerated face washed over Ichigo’s in the final plume of Aetheric flame.

Standing tall above the skyscrapers, Ichigo finally let a tear creep down his cheek before giving his sword one final swing and sheathing it.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

Ichigo awakened in the Kido barrier, barely clothed. What little remained of his black kimono was shredded and loosely fastened around his groin and thighs, trailing down his legs in thin, frayed strings. Flat on his back, he sat up to see Shinji gripping the ring-shaped pommel of a Zanpakuto. Ichigo saw that he was about to spin it but froze in the entryway of the Kido barrier once he locked eyes with Shinji. He saw Hachigen panting for breath on the ground in exhaustion and most of the Vizards with injuries that looked like they picked a fight with a sleuth of bears. Shinji, relatively untouched, quickly reverted his Zanpakuto back to its normal state and started shouting at him. “Heeeey! That you, Ichigo?! Feeling alright?!”

Ichigo looked down at his body that, while missing quite a bit of clothing, was virtually unscathed. After blinking a few times to make sure he was actually out of his inner world, he looked back up at Shinji and shrugged. “I think so! But where the hell are my clothes?!”

Shinji appeared before Ichigo in a blur of speed, standing over him with an inspecting gaze and both hands settled on his hips. Despite Ichigo’s surprise from his movement, Shinji remained silent for a few moments before giving him any sort of response. “Well, I’ll be damned. I won’t lie, we were starting to get a bit worried for you! Thought this was gonna be it.”

“I did too for a bit there. I--hey wait a minute!” Ichigo perked up and stood to his feet, getting into Shinji’s face. “Were you coming in here to kill me?! What happened if I didn’t wake up just a few seconds ago and took a little longer to come to?! _And where the hell are the rest of my clothes?!”_

“Well, uh, I mean we weren’t exactly sitting out here singing Kumbaya, Ichigo. Your body got a bit rowdy while you were taking care of your inner world. As for your clothes...ummm…” Shinji looked down, blinked, and locked his eyes back on Ichigo’s. His voice came in a whisper while pointing down, trying to hide a snicker. “I think whatever was left just fell around your ankles.”

Ichigo only had seconds to look down and realize that he was stark naked, unintentional semi-erection included, before he heard Hiyori shouting. She proudly made the revelation public knowledge as she approached the two. “Jeez, Ichigo! I think your mom should’ve named ya _Nasu_ or _Kyuri_ with what _you’re_ packing! I can’t _believe_ how much of a _pervert_ you are! Hell, I didn’t think you liked Shinji that way!”

“I DON---THIS IS---SHINJI ISN’T---!” Ichigo stuttered, trying in earnest to pull up the shred of clothing that was previously covering him. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in pulling it into more pieces. His face went beet red when he heard the other Vizards start to laugh.

“Huuuuh? Don’t tell me you stripped down because _I_ started coming over, _didya_ ?! _You absolute perv!_ ” Hiyori pulled off her sandal and started to stomp over to Shinji and Ichigo with smoke rushing out of flared nostrils. Although she wouldn’t admit it, her cheeks were growing just as red.

“Hiyori, calm do---” Shinji tried to step in Hiyori’s path only to get smacked across the field with limbs akimbo as his body smashed against a wall of the Kido barrier.

“ _So was all that choking just your sick idea of foreplay?! HUH, ICHIGO KUROSAKI?!”_ Ichigo covered his groin with his hands while running in circles away from Hiyori’s accusatory screams, almost wishing he hadn’t woken up.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


_**Las Noches - Laboratory** _

Under low lights, shadows contoured the bodies of all ten Espada who surrounded Sosuke Aizen. He held the Hogyoku and studied it on the preface of an expected procedure while the others sat around a sleek, mostly unfurnished room made of obsidian. Sinister stood adjacent to Aizen and examined the Hogyoku with the curiosity of a child, less interested about its implications and more so at how Aizen reacted. Once Aizen picked up on this, vexed by Sinister’s condescending observation, Ulquiorra sensed a minute but sharp fluctuation of Reiatsu. He piped up in an attempt to break the tension early. “If I may ask, why are you trying to utilize the power of the Hogyoku if it has yet to awaken?”

Sinister cracked a smile while Aizen squinted and gave a small pout. Feeling confident of his victory in another emotional battle of attrition against Aizen, Sinister’s eyes darted to Ulqiorra. “Ichigo has awakened his inner light. With the girl being an Aether wielder as well, that makes two powerful puppets of the Pantheon to--”

“No big deal. We’ll still smash ‘em. Hell, if it wasn’t for that guy with the hat and ninja girl in the Human World, that Ichigo kid would be six feet under, thanks to me.” Yammy picked a chunk of pork dumpling from his teeth as he spoke and didn’t realize until after he had chewed up his leftovers that everyone in the room was staring at him, the most stern glare being Sinister’s. “What? Am I wrong?”

“Sooner or later, you are going to understand that being disrespectful toward your brothers, your sisters, and especially me, is totally unacceptable.” Sinister’s red and yellow eyes come ablaze with power, forcing Yammy’s Theta symbol to follow suit, burning like a fresh brand on his forehead. Nether radiated in a purple haze from the sizzling flesh as the symbol slowly deepened, searing through skin and threatening to char right into his skull. Yammy fell off his seat and onto his knees, screaming in pain while the others watched in a pitying silence. The smell of Yammy’s cooking flesh quickly filled the room but he refused to relent, trembling on his knees in defiance. He shot Sinister a furious glare, a stubborn recant, only for Sinister to further his punishment.

  
Sinister took slow, deliberate steps toward Yammy, wrapped his thick, heavy fingers around the Espada’s neck and drove the fingers of his other hand into the smoldering wound. Flesh dissolved into ash while blood burned black streaks across his face from the increasingly intense heat. The clean, concise diameter of the burning hole was made jagged and uneven as Sinister forced his fingers through his skull, letting the pieces crumble like the chunky powder of charcoal. His fingers stopped just before sinking into the wrinkled regions of his exposed brain and he listened to Yammy’s scream devolve into husky gasps of air that lurched from his throat in desperation. Sinister looked to the whites of Yammy’s eyes after his pupils rolled to the back of his skull. His tone was low but stern. “Your rage….is but a flickering candle before an inferno. Thank Achlys that mercy is a virtue I recognize.”

Sinister’s eyes dimmed and Yammy’s burning symbol finally began to cool. The Espada collapsed on the floor to tremble quietly and regenerate from his wounds, turning his face away from the others. Clearing his throat, Sinister cast his glance back to the remaining Espada. “Going off of Yammy’s contribution to the conversation, It _is_ a big deal because, although I assumed that Ichigo had the _potential_ to wield Aether, I never thought he would be able to break the grip of the Nether. Additionally, Orihime’s status as an Aether wielder and Urahara’s meddling are other hypotheticals I did not particularly plan for. As myself and Sosuke have theorized, my very arrival in this universe has altered more scenarios than I would have wanted.”

“In that case, Father, perhaps this situation is spiraling out of control.” Ulquiorra’s stoic expression pulled itself away from the smoldering, unconscious body of Yammy and turned to Sinister. “I assume this would also preclude the prophetic plan of the gods you have been mentioning, correct?”

“Yes. Every universe I enter, to spread the blessing of Achlys and build up the Family, has its own version of the Pantheon. They also have an ordained champion that fights to protect their reality from me, as a sort of failsafe to keep me from snuffing them out.” Sinister turned to face Ulquiorra, smiling at his apathetic, blank stare. “Because of this, I tried to corrupt Ichigo, believing that if he was taken out of their prophetic plan, I would have nothing serious to worry about. But the fact that Orihime became a wielder of the Aether and can effectively eradicate Nether from people’s bodies means that this universe’s Pantheon is adapting to every step of our plan -- the chess pieces are constantly moving, in a sense.”

“That is why it is imperative that we create a vessel that is capable of draining the Aether from an individual, a bottomless pit that can absolve our enemies of this Quintessence.” Aizen pulled a scalpel from his jacket and dragged the edge along one of his palms, squeezing his black blood over the Hogyoku. After a few moments, it pulsed with energy and pulled away from Aizen’s grip to float to the center of the room. The Espada looked on as black sludge oozed from the Hogyoku to slop against the ground, eventually forming a pile of dark sludge that gradually lightened to the fair tone of flesh. First, there were amorphous tendrils, flailing wildly. Then, there came the rapid cracking and popping of bones and the sculpting of flesh to form hands and feet. The blob soon shaped up a pair of shoulders with their arms and legs, slamming their appendages against the floor as if to test them out. Finally, a head emerged from the naked body of a young boy.

His face was spotted with freckles and draped with a modest veil of blonde hair. Opening his eyes, Wonderweiss Margela’s purple pupils lazily drifted about in his head. After scanning the room, his eyes came to settle on Aizen who, with a gloved hand, reached into a dense compartment in one of the obsidian walls. The bright glow of Aether forced some of the Espada to shield their eyes or turn away, letting Aizen carry the small but potent vial over to Wonderweiss. Holding it in front of the child’s face, Aizen watched Wonderweiss stick his tongue out and scoop the glass vial into his mouth. There were noisy, thick crunches from the glass and a bit of blood from his careless snacking but Wonderweiss’ expression remained somewhat dumbstruck. It was only after his last gulp that his slack-jawed, gaping mouth formed a grin. “Ahhhhhhhh~”

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 20 End_ **


	21. This is Where We Say Goodbye

_ "Wielding one's blade out of duty alone is what it means to be a captain. Wielding one's blade out of hatred is nothing more than petty violence. That is not what we would consider battle.” _

  
  


  * Toshiro Hitsugaya



  
  
  


_**Karakura Park - Two Weeks Later** _

“I’m glad you decided to join us today, Ichigo.” Toshiro sat cross-legged atop a small boulder, eyes closed and hands resting in his lap. On either side of him was Ikkaku, who was already deep into his meditation, and Ichigo, whose twitching lids and tilting head showed just how much of a struggle it was for him. Five yards away, Yumichika and Rangiku were having even more trouble than Ichigo was, arguing about whether or not they or their Zanpakutos were the reason they couldn’t start meditating. Ichigo still wasn’t able to fully accept that these Shinigami were going to be around for another four months in the Human World, but he was starting to learn a bit more about who they were beneath the strict code of the Soul Society.

“I gotta say...it’s kinda odd having you guys hanging around Karakura Town, even if it  _ is _ to prepare for the Arrancar this winter.” Ichigo’s eyes stopped twitching and his breathing slowed. “Feels even  _ more _ odd that we just have to sit here and wait like this.”

“Well, if you find that meditation doesn’t suit you, you could always train.” Something Toshiro said struck a chord with Ichigo, shutting up everything inside the teenager as sweat started to form on his temples. At first, Toshiro believed that Ichigo had relented and was focusing on meditation but the nervous aura that flowed from his body urged the young captain to peek over at him. Little did he know, Ichigo’s mind was momentarily entranced in a haunting memory. “Ichigo? Ah, Ichigo?”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


“ _ Ngh! Ngh! _ What... _ hnngg! _ ...what if they find us?!” Sun-trimmed shade blanketed Hiyori while Ichigo’s sweat-drenched back, bare and tensing, laid open for the orange rays of the setting sun. Large wooden crates laid adjacent to bundles of broken scrap to help provide a crude cover while the slick impact of skin on skin echoed quietly in the warehouse. Hiyori’s hazel eyes locked tight with Ichigo’s while her legs spread loosely around his waist, leaving one foot bare, toes flexing and clenching with every shift of Ichigo’s body. Her other foot dangled with her remaining sandal hanging precariously by its single strap from her big toe, bobbing with each thrust. Her red track jacket, unzipped, drifted further and further from her chest while the metal teeth of its zipper brushed against her firm but modest peaks. She had forgotten there were freckles there too.

“If you... _ haaaaah _ ...s-shut  _ up _ , then they  _ won’t _ find us. They’re... _ hnnn _ ...taking a short nap after lunch.” The pull tab of Hiyori’s jacket zipper started to jingle as she adjusted herself time and time again, pressing her back firmly against the wall. Ichigo’s hands moved from her hips to her legs, spreading them wider and hearing that other sandal slap against the concrete floor. Hiyori reached into Ichigo’s orange tuft of hair and gave his rippled midsection a few glances before pulling his face closer to hers. “B...be-- _ huunghh! _ ...sides, I’ve seen you look at Lisa’s magazines.”

Ichigo’s hair fell to drape his eyes as he buried himself in Hiyori in response. The air between them thickened with arguments left unsaid that soon melted into heavy gasps and hitched breaths. Their breaths exchanged in a hot, repetitive breeze that rushed across their faces with hints of lunch, the savory stench of beef and rice reminding them of their latent hunger. Ichigo’s thrusts slammed her against the wall with heavy thuds that made Hiyori push back, forcing him to carry her instead. Legs wrapped to lock around Ichigo’s waist and nimble, calloused hands clawed at Ichigo’s scalp while Hiyori clenched her teeth. She could feel his strength radiate through her spine, blurring her vision, making her mind swim with sensations. Every throb, every pulse from him made her clench tighter, thinking that the next thrust would be the one to fill her.

“Ahhhhhh, trying something  _ different _ , huh?” Shinji had appeared just a few feet away from Hiyori and Ichigo, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “A few hours of Hiyori smacking you around in training is all it takes to get you all hot and bothered? Maybe she  _ was _ right about the choking.”

Lisa was on the other side of the entangled pair, adjusting her glasses with a curious stare. “And here I thought it was just a coincidence plague-infected people were more attuned to their baser urges.”

“Glad to see I’m not the only one who goes through Lisa’s magazines. Looks like you’re more like us than you thought, huh Ichigo?” Love Aikawa smiled as he peered over Ichigo’s shoulder. Ichigo froze along with Hiyori as both of them blushed a hot, beet red. In the sudden silence, the heavy, churning gush of Ichigo’s climax managed to fill the space. Hiyori shuddered but she couldn’t tell if it was because of Ichigo’s release or the impromptu exhibition. In seconds, Ichigo’s insides felt as if they had vacated through every pore of his body, his eyes wide, lips working just enough for him to stutter gibberish. 

His heart raced like a hummingbird against his chest once Shinji’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, his face just inches away from Ichigo’s ear. The sound of Shinji’s Zanpakuto slowly scraping in its unsheathing and the sudden ferocity of his surfacing Reiatsu nearly made Ichigo collapse. “ _ Lunch is over _ . Back to  _ training _ , Ichigo…. _ Ichigo….Ichigo….” _

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


“Ichigo?!” Toshiro shouted once more only to see Ichigo snap out of his memory and face him. The captain raised a brow, squinting at him. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah! Yeah. I think I’m much better off just...uhh...meditating.” Ichigo wiped the sweat from his brow before closing his eyes again. “I could use a  _ long _ break from training.”

“Hm, yes well...you’re not the  _ only _ one who is having difficulties acclimating to the Human World.” Toshiro lulled himself back into meditation. Though his eyes were closed, his face started to twist with annoyance. “The teachers at your high school, for example, are needlessly persistent about showing one’s work. A captain doesn’t have to elaborate on their training session when they apply for their position, so why should  _ I _ have to explain the mundane process of a basic mathematical equation?”

“On the opposite end, Ikkaku and Renji are getting a little  _ too _ comfortable at school. They’re practically delinquents with the way the other kids are talking about them. Last I heard, some student was dangled over the edge of the roof just because they said Ikkaku’s head reminded them of a bowling ball.” Ichigo was interrupted by Ikakku’s dismissive snort, peeking over to see that he had been listening silently in his own meditation. He couldn’t tell if he was amused or insulted and took in a bit of the momentary silence before continuing. “Yumichika seems to be well liked by the students, though. Especially the girls. Guy practically has to beat ‘em off with a stick.”

“Perhaps he and Rangiku are staying in the same circles, then.” Toshiro straightened his back and let his face relax into a stoic wall of concentration. “Her shopping addiction aside, the lieutenant can’t seem to grasp the idea of modesty. With the way she wears her uniform, her chest has all but become a shrine for the young men in our class.”

Ichigo, Toshiro and Ikkaku all exhaled as the dark orange glaze of the setting sun washed across the park, coincidentally leaving Rangiku and Yumichika to argue about their Zanpakuto in the shadows. Ikkaku soon spoke up in the stillness, directing his half-lidded gaze toward Ichigo. “Ya know, I’m not sure if you went off to do some training or worked out some emotional issues but your aura feels...different.”

Toshiro added on, his eyes still closed. “I have to agree, Ichigo. There was always a growing sense of dread, an uncertainty when around you, even for the faintest of time. But your aura feels much more clean, strong even. It’s as if someone finally illuminated your soul. Maybe indulge us in what led you to this point. I’m sure the lieutenant could learn quite a bit.”

“Tch! A little meditation and a lot of excitement does just fine for me, _captain_.” Ikkaku scoffed and cast his face to the ground with closed eyes. “Besides, I said it felt _different, not_ _normal_. I’m sure Ichigo knows as well as I do he isn’t done with that plague. He should take that as _good_ news, too. Whatever he did to lessen that crap must have been intense, maybe even life-threatening.”

Ichigo’s eyes opened fully and his neck slowly craned to look at Ikkaku’s smirking face. “Well…”

“The fight is never over, Ichigo. You can stab, bludgeon, cleave and pierce as much as you want, but even if you kill one enemy, another will always come. You shouldn’t see your soul as somethin’ to cleanse. You’re not some kinda monk. You’re a Shinigami.” Ikkaku’s smirk slowly vanished and the corners of his mouth dropped ever so slightly. “Every challenge is a whetstone, a chance for you to sharpen your skills, your mind and your soul. Peace is just a short break between the fights, gives you a chance to appreciate every struggle. But don’t fight just to run away from the struggle. Fight to get stronger for the next one, then dive headfirst.”

Ichigo wanted to tell him he was wrong about his situation but, the more he sat in contemplation, accompanied by the scattered tweets of birds and the gentle winds that brushed his neck, the more he came to realize that Ikkaku was right. In what time he did succumb to the simple breathing of his meditation and the calmness of his body, Ichigo remembered all of the times where he did anything he could to get rid of the plague from Urahara’s medicine to simply ignoring it. The plague had ravaged his psyche and his body, that much was true. But it had also bolstered his strength, his resolve and even forced him to find a greater power he didn’t even know existed within himself. He was almost inclined to say a word of thanks to Ikkaku but, before he could, he heard the lieutenant speak out with concern. “The clouds….they’re moving.”

Pulled from their meditative lull, Ichigo, Toshiro and Ikkaku all looked up at the sky to see a Puerte Umbra. It ripped through a section of the sky in a horizontal split, a dark whip of black ichor lashing out before the gap widened like the large mouth of a beast. Between the jagged dimensional tear, the shape of which looked like ferocious teeth, stood Yammy, Grimmjow, Wonderweiss and an especially cocky Luppi Antenor. While Wonderweiss gave a thousand-yard stare, drooling, slack-jawed mouth included, Grimmjow peered out in both anger and anticipation, shouting down at Ichigo. “Hey!”

For anyone else, there would have been an inquiry, perhaps even a demand, to explain themselves. But, for some reason, Ichigo already suspected what emotions were clouding Grimmjow’s mind and exactly what he felt would help clear it. Grimmjow and Ichigo bolted from their respective positions and took to the skies elsewhere above the park, faintly hearing the commotion of their comrades clashing. To them, it was background noise, a window dressing to the primal desire they both felt needed to be satiated. When they reappeared across from each other, both with one hand on their swords, Ichigo couldn’t help but stare at the shoulder stump he had tied off with the short sleeve of his shirt. “Where’s your arm?”

“I left it at home. Besides, I only need  _ one _ to kill  _ you _ , Ichigo.” Grimmjow drew his blade and raced through the air to slice across Ichigo’s chest. But Ichigo didn’t even need to parry. When Zangetsu was whipped out from its cloth sheath, it stood firm against his slash like an iron barrier, bouncing Grimmjow and his sword away with the swift clash. Ichigo stood, unyielding, and stared down Grimmjow without the fear and anxiety that overtook him in their first encounter. Grimmjow tried again and again, even adding in a flurry of kicks to try and dissuade Ichigo from just standing there, from making Grimmjow dance with every remaining limb just to get a chance to strike him. Though, he never relented. Panting, Grimmjow paused and took a few steps back. “...what the hell is  _ this _ ? How can you withstand all this?!”

“I changed. You didn’t.” Zangetsu arced out to strike at Grimmjow with a diagonal slash. Grimmjow tried to meet his sword and felt an incredible weight strike back against him through Ichigo’s swing, shearing across the edge and finally knocking the Arrancar across the rooftop of a nearby building. He skidded along the surface before catching himself and swinging his sword out in front of him in frustration. Grimmjow’s eyes flared with a toxic cocktail of hatred and disbelief, using one to fuel the other while he wagged his sword at Ichigo dismissively. Ichigo felt his own fire crackle in his bones but it was subdued. Concentrated. “You never know what could accomplished in a month, Grimmjow. Your loss was my gain and being pissed off won’t change that.”

“Heh! Don’t get cocky just because you got a little stronger after I spared your life.” Grimmjow sheathed his sword between his teeth, letting the edge and the handle jut out from either side of his mouth. His arm whipped about briefly before aiming his palm at Ichigo, letting red electric energy form a Reishi orb. Ichigo remembered the sonic distortion of that energy, that Cero. Before he could move, the blinding red light flared in front of him and the beam of Reishi nearly overtook his body. Ichigo brought his sword up just in time to press the flat of the blade against the Cero blast, wrestling with the pressure of Grimmjow’s Reishi. Once he endured through the incredible pressure of the Cero, once Ichigo parried it away with a shout that filled the sky, that’s when Grimmjow finally began to accept the sensation of disbelief that had been haunting him since their last battle. His hand ran along that scar and his eyes momentarily wandered, searching for an explanation. “Bastard…”

“I’ve taken a Cero head-on before, Grimmjow. I beat  _ that _ one and I just beat  _ this _ one. Your sword work’s not as strong as it was a month ago, either.” Ichigo nearly fell back on his instinct to slice through Grimmjow, to destroy him with his newfound power as a sign of redemption, to fulfill his quota for vengeance. But just as he opened his mouth to sound his war cry, the words of his mother returned to him. Grimmjow, in his ignorance, could only see hesitation. “That anger...doesn’t do  _ either _ of us any good. Why are you fighting for Aizen? Why did you join Sinister’s cult?”

“Bahahahahahaha! You think just because you could block my Cero and had a little training that you can look down on  _ me _ ?  _ Huh _ ?!” Grimmjow’s Reishi swirled with a violent fervor, whipping into a funnel. He stared through the veil of energy before snatching his sword from his mouth, drool falling away from the blade. He screamed at Ichigo with absolute fury, this time pushing the Shinigami back with quick, dedicated strikes. Through his stubborn will alone, he forced Ichigo to move, growing louder with his insane cackles each time Ichigo took a step back from their clash. “Hahahaha! I  _ told _ you not to get cocky, you bastard! Don’t underestimate me!”

Ichigo could always sense what motivated a person just by crossing swords with them, feeling the emotion emanating from their Zanpakuto. At first, he assumed that he would feel nothing but unbridled rage with Grimmjow. Though, the more they clashed, the more he got the feeling that Grimmjow was dripping with desperation. It was the type of rabid motivation that only came from an animal backed into a corner, fighting tooth and nail to get out and prove, both to itself and its prey, that it deserved to live another day. As his eyes followed Grimmjow’s movements, he mentally blocked out his cocky shouting, seeing the small tremors that came after each clash, the wild look in his eyes that expressed a bestial hunger rather than contentment. In the latest meeting of blades, Ichigo pushed back against Grimmjow while Aether slowly started to form along his skin.

“No, Ichigo!” Suddenly, Ichigo was shoved through the sky and against one of the nearby rooftops. He struggled until he realized it was Shinji who had pinned him down, wearing much more dapper attire. “Keep your Aether hidden. You have to hold back.”

Ichigo pushed against Shinji, brows furrowing. “What?! Why the hell would I do that? I spend all this time training to get this power and--Hnggk!”

Shinji shoved him back against the ground. His eyes were piercing and his teeth were on display but not in a smile. “Don’t be so quick to give the enemy a reason to change tactics. This isn’t just a head-to-head fight but a game. There are unspoken rules in play here, especially if you’re gonna go against one of Aizen’s subordinates. You need to keep a good poker face here, Ichigo.”

“Tch. I don’t know who the hell  _ you _ are but if you wanna die too, I can kick your ass next.” Grimmjow hovered over them in the air, his Zanpakuto resting over his shoulder. “Besides, it doesn’t matter  _ what _ power you think you’ve got, I’ll still beat you.”

“Oh?” Shinji released Ichigo, tapping him a few times on his chest as a signal for him to stay put. Standing to his feet, Shinji slowly pulled his Zanpakuto from its sheath and started to grin at Grimmjow. “Well if you’re so confident, why don’t you come take  _ me _ out first? From the looks of it, you had Ichigo on the ropes there. Should be an easy win.”

As arrogant as Grimmjow was, he could smell bullshit from a mile away. His face contorted with rage and droplets of saliva spewed with each word. He flew through the air to match Shinji’s blade and began to chase him from building to building with his Sonido. “Don’t fucking condescend to me!”

Grimmjow’s passionate effort notwithstanding, the fight between him and Shinji was embarrassingly short. The confidence that he gained from Ichigo’s momentary lapse in strength and concentration had been drained the moment that Shinji’s purple eyes and pale face revealed his version of the Nether. But it was more than that and, even with the revelation that Shinji carried the same energy he did, Grimmjow knew it. If anything, the small transformation only made the monstrous ocean of Reiatsu hidden beneath the surface all the more obvious. The first strike from Shinji forced Grimmjow to stagger, turning his reluctance to quit into a frightening shade of disbelief. The second strike parried his blade, leaving him wide open for a brutal gash to form across his chest. The third strike, to Grimmjow’s horror, aimed to sever his head from his shoulders.

“ **_Bla--_ ** ” Grimmjow’s wrist was snapped before he could finish and Shinji’s sword had been blocked, both done by the bare hands of Ulquiorra.

“We are finished here, Grimmjow. Father Maharana and Lord Aizen await our return.” Ulquiorra’s Reiatsu pushed Shinji back, giving him and Grimmjow enough time to blur through the skies and reappear at the Puerte Umbra. Ulquiorra cast a quick glance back at Ichigo, who had gotten up to stand beside Shinji. Although he didn’t say anything, the look of pity that he conveyed forced Ichigo to act.

“You can’t just come here, start trouble and leave like nothing happened. I won’t let you keep hurting my friends!  **_Bankai!_ ** ” Cyan Reishi started to flow along Ichigo’s body with white spots filling the air like twinkling stars. Shinji tried to reach out to Ichigo and stop him but he felt an overwhelming sense of danger the moment his fingers neared his garb. Frustrated, Shinji backed away and let Ichigo swing his sword at the dark portal. “ **_Getsuga Tenshou!_ ** ”

The cyan and white Getsuga raced through the air toward the small group of Espada but, unfortunately, it never reached them. Instead of a final blow against the invaders of Karakura Town, Ichigo saw Wonderweiss standing in front of the others, licking his lips as if he just finished a meal. The strange Arrancar belched a small blue ember before waving goodbye to Ichigo and Shinji. As the Puerte Umbra vanished, their stomachs clenched and Ichigo himself felt a fresh coating of sweat glaze his face. The Aether around Ichigo quelled and Shinji’s Nether transformation had faded. His displeasure, though, was present and clear. “ _ Goddammit _ , Ichigo.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


_**Soul Society - Earlier** _

Two black butterflies entered the training area where Rukia and Orihime were testing their mettle for the winter war. One of the Jigokucho flew beside Rukia and the other flew near Captain Ukitake, who had been watching the two women’s progression throughout the day. A faint ringing, almost reminiscent of tiny bells, forced both Rukia and Jushiro into an immediate state of alert. Rukia looked up from the training pit to the now stoic captain. “Captain! The Arrancar!”

“Yes, I received word as well. I will prepare the Dangai for travel and---” Before Jushiro could finish, he saw a silhouette appear between Orihime and Rukia. Initially featureless and obscure, the red and yellow eyes of Sinister Maharana quickly put him on edge. Jushiro raced to their side but found that any further movement became extremely difficult, if not impossible. Every effort brought about a great weight, a gravitational pull that forced his once raised arm to go slack by his side, as if broken. “Ngh!”

“Do not worry, Jushiro. You will not have to make  _ any _ accommodations. I will escort Orihime myself.” Sinister stood between all three of them but his eyes locked with Orihime’s. As the seconds passed, Jushiro started to feel as though gravity was increasing to an astounding degree, forcing him to his knees. He looked over to see that Rukia was already pinned against the ground and he struggled to crane his neck up to look at a smiling Sinister. He had seen this before, subordinates forced to kneel before Shinigami who had power that trumped their own. But, besides a sinking feeling of dread, he couldn’t feel any overwhelming power. It was as if his body knew something he didn’t and fighting its requests were futile. A heavy pulse, like a sudden, bass-filled wave of sonic energy, rattled him to the bones, forcing him onto all fours. “I call it  _ The Yield _ , Jushiro. Over the centuries, I have come to understand the type of energy you Shinigami use and it just so happens that my power compliments it  _ astoundingly _ well. Essentially, the primordial element that makes up my body can be expressed in a way similar to how you captains express your Reiatsu.I suppose you might call it  _ Primordial _ Reiatsu. Not as catchy but it is much clearer in meaning.”

While Orihime remained frightened, yet unaffected, Rukia struggled to breathe. She clawed at her chest as her lungs started to compress from the gravitational shift, staring wide-eyed at Jushiro as he struggled just to lift his head. Eventually, he felt a burning sensation in his chest that radiated through his lungs and his body was slammed against the ground. Drool seeped from their mouths that gaped desperately for air, Rukia much more so than Jushiro. Though they mouthed their Shikai, no words came forth, a secondary terror that rattled their already crushed bodies. Orihime’s body started to tremor as she looked between Rukia and Jushiro, eyes already glazing over with fear. “P-please….don’t hurt them...what do you want?”

“I seek an audience with you in Hueco Mundo, Orihime. That is all. As long as you come with me, I will do nothing more than restrain your associates until our departure is made certain.” Orihime listened to Sinister’s smooth, deep voice while her hands raised for the prefacing gestures of her Shun Shun Rikka’s activation. She heard Rukia’s earlier advice about tossing aside feelings of hesitation, about attacking the enemy before they could get their kill. But the smell, the sudden rich aroma of grapes, lilacs and charcoal forced her body to pause, for her lips, that tried to shape the words, to freeze. She could swear that the smoky scent was so powerful, she could see it -- a pink dew that drifted along the breeze with droplets sinking into her skin. In the midst, she also saw that her shadow had ceased being her own and was conjoined with Sinister’s in an abstract shape along the ground. Her face became lax, drunk in the haze. “But I do not believe you will come with me just out of their safety. I believe you will come with me because you want to, because there is something inside that beckons you to me. Listen to it, Orihime.  _ That _ is your destiny. Stretch out your hands and receive it.”

In an obedient daze, Orihime stepped to Sinister until she was mere inches away from his looming body, gazing up like a child would to a parent. Her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek came to rest against his broad chest. Warmth flooded through her veins and pleasure throbbed along her spine, giving sharp, potent bursts of dopamine for her to feast on in her suggestive state. Neither Jushiro or Rukia could see the haze, instead struggling to close their eyes to keep them from bulging out of their sockets. Jushiro couldn’t hear the gurgling resistance of Rukia anymore and tried to hold on to the world of the conscious himself. Beyond the inherent weakness of his body, beyond the illness he overcame, he drilled the fact that he was a captain over and over again in his head. His Reiatsu battled furiously just to allow him the sight of Sinister kissing Orihime’s forehead and stroking her hair as if she was his own daughter.

“You and Rukia will join the Family soon enough, Jushiro. But let this moment be seared into your mind. Understand that, without the blessing of Achlys and without my power, you barbarians are simply postponing the inevitable. Let my mercy linger in your thoughts for as long as you live.” Deep bass sounded throughout the area as Sinister and Orihime vanished in a burst of black static. While Jushiro’s lungs painfully filled back up with air, his mouth greedily gulping up oxygen, he staggered over to Rukia to check her body. Not dead but unconscious. Sweat poured from his face as he knelt down, panting and wheezing while clutching his chest. After a few minutes, Jushiro had regained his composure and lifted Rukia’s body off the ground. He left with her in a blur of speed, leaving behind nothing but broken butterflies.

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 21 End_ **


	22. Unrequited Hope

_ "That’s just the way it is. Change is inevitable. Instead of resisting it, you’re better served simply going with the flow.” _

  
  


  * Shunsui Kyoraku



  
  
  


_**Orihime’s Bedroom - The Following Day** _

“Traitor?!” Ichigo stood dumbfounded in the midst of lieutenants and captains, staring down Captain Ukitake and Captain Yamamoto from the other side of the two-way monitor. When Rukia dragged him out of bed that morning, he expected good news, some sort of lead on the Espada and, most importantly, to learn why Orihime had been missing for the past twenty-four hours. His rage, which would have been boiling at this point, was instead simmering with more genuine disbelief than anger. Hands opened and shut while he did well to keep his stuttering to a minimum, feeling Renji’s hand grip his shoulder as a sign for him to shut up. At least for the time being.

“It’s the only way that I can describe what occurred. It would seem that Orihime Inoue has voluntarily joined the ranks of Sinister and his Family.” Jushiro’s voice was laced with disappointment and a nagging sense of pain from the previous day’s attack. “There was no struggle and no cries for help. She cleaved to him with an affection I can only attribute to a sense of intimacy. Furthermore, the malevolent energy that disabled myself and Lieutenant Kuchiki was not applied to Orihime, leaving her completely unharmed. Someone with Sinister’s power would not have spared her if she resisted in any fashion.”

“Are you saying that Orihime  _ willingly _ joined that  _ smelly grape bastard _ ?! I refuse to believe it!” Ichigo keeled over from Renji’s elbow slamming into his stomach. The lieutenant bowed toward Jushiro and Yamamoto in apology as he grabbed hold of Ichigo’s hair, forcing him down to do the same. In the brief moment both of their heads were lowered, Renji took the time to whisper some advice to Ichigo.

“ _ Ichigo, you don’t speak that way in front of the head captain! Just shut up and let me handle this. I rank higher than you, remember?” _ Renji released Ichigo on their way up, seeing Ichigo yank Renji’s hand away from him before he could remove it. Though his face was twisted with annoyance, Ichigo remained silent while Renji spoke. “Captain Ukitake, Captain-Commander Yamamoto, I understand the concerns that have been put forth and completely understand your position regarding recent developments. Because of this, I volunteer to go to Hueco Mundo myself and have the traitor answer for their erroneous actions.”

“In no capacity will that be allowed, Lieutenant Abarai.” Captain Yamamoto slammed the end of his staff against the wooden floorboards, making the empty barrack he was seated in all the more ominous. His eyes creased ever so slightly, giving the impression that they were closed. “Do you forget that Captain Ukitake was not the only person injured by Sinister’s power?”

Renji’s head lowered, as did his tone. “No, Captain-Commander. I understand that Rukia’s injuries were...more severe.”

“Then you understand that such a request is foolhardy, at best. If that demon had indulged further in his sadism, Lieutenant Kuchiki may not have had the pleasure of recovering at the medical barracks.” Yamamoto huffed. “With this news, as well as the recent incursion from the Arrancar, we must do all that we can to prepare for the war this winter. Sinister and his forces are growing bolder by the day and it is becoming painfully obvious that we have been caught unprepared.”

“Captain-Commander, with all due respect, I  _ must _ urge you to reconsider. Orihime Inoue was the first person, according to S.R.D.I., who displayed not only positive interactions with the primordial element Aether, but used it offensively to successfully purge Nether from a fully infected human. By releasing her to the enemy without any further recourse, I  _ strongly _ believe that we are handing them a valuable asset that could turn the tide in this war.” Ichigo had never heard Renji like that. He knew that he had a temper and that shouting was much more common coming from him than any sort of indoor voice, per se, but he would have never believed that someone like Renji would have validated his lieutenant status with such professional vigor. The more Ichigo thought about it, the more he understood that Renji had good reason to shut him up. 

“In any other situation, your persistent nature may have been commended. But, in this case Lieutenant Abarai, your words do nothing but stir a sense of disrespect.” Renji tried to open his mouth to recant his fiery plea but Yamamoto hushed him with a raised hand before continuing. “We do not go to war against simple Hollows, nor are we fighting against common criminals. This is a darkness that I faced over a thousand years ago. Once someone falls under his influence, they are  _ never _ the same. We have cut down people we once called allies, friends. Family. Make no mistake that there are many who hold the same conflicted pain you both do, Captain Abarai and Ichigo Kurosaki. However, the lives of those yet lost must be held in a higher regard than those that demon has ensnared. We do not kill out of emotion, for that is the tactic of the enemy. What we do, we do out of duty, out of the sworn oath to protect the Soul Society and the world of the living.”

“And what if we refuse?” Ichigo’s eyes stared right through the two-way monitor and into the eyes of the glaring Captain-Commander. At that point, Jushiro and the other Shinigami didn’t exist to him. “What if I leave here and go get her myself? What if  _ my _ life is the only one at risk?”

“Your very nature predicated such a suggestion.” Yamamoto tapped his staff against the floorboards once more. All of the present Shinigami, besides Renji, placed a hand on the handle of their Zanpakuto and looked at Ichigo with a mixture of regret and diligence. Renji simply placed a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder and looked at him as if he had failed more than just one person. With no more vocal resistance from Ichigo, Yamamoto’s eyes lidded once more as he gave his departing words. “Then it is understood. Take stock in what you have learned over these past few days and continue preparing for the upcoming war. We must make sure that nothing is overlooked. Dismissed.”

“Don’t  _ fucking _ touch me.” No sooner had the two-way monitor disconnected did Ichigo violently shrug Renji’s hand from his shoulder, turning to give every person in the room a look designed to kill. He shook his head with glazed eyes before storming from the room. 

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


_**Karakura Hospital - That Evening** _

The steady beep of the vitals, the periodic, droning voice of a nurse over the PA speaker, the overwhelming aroma that emanated from the thin veil of antibacterial cleansers throughout the halls --- all of these things were muted the moment that Ryuken Ishida walked past his son’s room. The chart of a potentially psychotic patient had dropped from two hands to one as Ryuken paused and turned to look into Uryu’s room. At first glance, there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with the room itself --- Uryu resting in his bed, windows closed, tidy area --- but the sensation that there was more than just Uryu there gave him an excuse to detour. Ryuken reached back to close the door behind him and sighed. “Why have you come here? It’s after hours. Visitors aren’t allowed.”

Urahara stepped out from behind the dividing curtain and smiled at Ryuken, hands resting in his jacket pockets. “Eh, you know why I’m here.”

Ryuken’s expression remained stoic as he approached Uryu’s bed, eyes focused on Urahara. “His powers should be completely replenished by dawn, but interfering with his rejuvenation won’t do any good here.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not here to cause any trouble. Honest.” Urahara craned his neck to look at Uryu. His eyes lazily scanned the tapestry of bandages wrapped around his torso. “Part of the whole reason I came by was to check and see if the whole thing actually, you know, worked.”

“Just because I don’t have an overwhelming desire to be an active Quincy doesn’t mean I’m not  _ proficient _ , Urahara. I didn’t build that training room for posterity’s sake.” Uryu jabbed the end of his clipboard at Urahara, keeping his voice low even with his rising irritation. “I wouldn’t have had to do it if he didn’t tag along into the Soul Society, getting himself  _ infected _ . Do you know how much danger our world would be in if that psychopath recruited a Quincy?”

“Ryuken, I’ll take care of him.” Urahara sighed. “I know you two aren’t exactly the prime example of father-son bonding but you wouldn’t have done this if you didn’t care. He definitely wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t care about his friends. He’s a good kid. Just tries too hard to stay that way, something I think rubbed off from you.”

“And what are  _ you _ trying to do?  _ Recruit _ him? Make him fight in a war that  _ your _ kind started?” Ryuken’s fingers clenched tighter around his chart. “My parenting isn’t up for questioning here. Your motives, however, are.”

“How about saving an innocent human, Ryuken? I mean, just in case the hundreds of thousands of people in Karakura Town weren’t enough reason. Isn’t that why the Quincy fight?” Urahara’s gaze hardened to match Ryuken’s. “It would suck pretty hard if you, the so-called last Quincy, let all these humans die because of your damn pride. You gave your son a second chance, so don’t let your arrogance piss it away before he even has a chance to fail. He’s earned that much and you know it.”

“Don’t tell me what I know, Urahara, let alone in  _ my _ hospital. You haven’t changed.” Ryuken scoffed.

“ _ You _ sure as hell did.” Urahara walked around Uryu’s bed to stand just inches from Ryuken, undeterred. The air of empathy was clear in his voice and it made Ryuken freeze. “I promise that you won’t have to stand over your son like you did Katagiri. You’re not  _ all _ gone. If you  _ were _ , Uryu would be at home. And if  _ I _ don’t take him, you know he’ll come on his own.”

When Urahara mentioned Katagiri, Ryuken’s eyes flared with a frightening mixture of pitiful longing and rage. It was the look a good friend got when they had struck a nerve, not hard enough to snap but more than enough to make it hurt. Urahara knew he had one free shot and, like everything else, he executed flawlessly. They stood there for what seemed like hours, staring each other down, whittling away any sense of false bravado or potential retreat that meandered between them. Ryuken’s reluctant voice piped up before he turned to leave the room, chart firmly in hand. “Uryu’s fate may be out of my hands but  _ your _ ass is never too far away from the aim of a Heilig Pfeil. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.”

Urahara waited until Ryuken left the room and closed the door, letting out a long sigh. Shaking his head, he walked back over to open the bedside window before lifting Uryu into his arms. He placed a chocolate on Uryu’s pillow just before vanishing with the young Quincy. “Tch. If it weren’t for Isshin…”

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 22 End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Apologies for the shorter chapter. I wanted to work in these two scenes in the previous chapter or the next one but I didn't want to overextend on where the chapter 'felt' like it should have ended. I really appreciate everyone who's given this fic a read up to now and even gone as far as to give it a kudos. I'm excited to share the next chapter with you next week!


	23. Tyrant's Song

_"I am sane. It’s this world that’s crazy.”_

  
  


  * Jin Kariya



  
  
  


_**Las Noches - Aizen’s Throne Room** _

“Welcome, Orihime Inoue, to Hueco Mundo.” Aizen’s voice boomed through the mostly empty throne room and fell upon the ears of the inebriated redhead. Orihime’s mind was swimming from Sinister’s influence and she couldn’t help but nod in thanks for Aizen’s accommodating words. Her eyelids fluttered every now and again as standing became increasingly difficult, leaving her body to tip, sway and stagger in an almost drunken haze. Though, she became surprisingly aware after Aizen spoke his request. “I can understand that this environment may be new to you and that finding your bearings presents its own set of challenges but, if you could, I would like for you to give a display of your miraculous abilities. Restore Grimmjow to his former glory.”

“You have _got_ to be shitting me. Is this _really_ what we went through all this trouble to do? Snatch up some _human_ so they could be our glorified _nurse_ ?!” Luppi watched Orihime lay hands on a reluctant Grimmjow from the other side of Aizen’s throne, gritting his teeth. His thumb rubbed against his fingers as he let out a series of forced laughs and loud scoffs, barely trying to disguise the outright disgust he felt. “We’re the _Children of Achly_ s, for fuck’s sake. We were _right there_ and I would have killed that scruffy little ice punk if Yammy didn’t fuck up. The hell is a _candy shop owner_ even doing wielding a Zanpakuto anyway? Did we even run a fucking check to see how many Shinigami were hiding in plain sight in this place? And why the _fuck_ did we just run away?! We have enough power to go to the world of the living and destroy them in one fell swoop!”

Aizen’s response to insubordination usually resided in two camps of discipline -- verbal lashings and swift death. Finding manipulation to be easier, and much more worthy of his lesser pawns, he didn’t much like lifting a finger just to crush an ant. But, in this case, he was particularly offended and had no shame in showing it with the sharp rise of his Reiatsu. The air blurred in fragments of static, causing the ground to quake for no more than five seconds before he stopped at the behest of Sinister’s raised hand. “There will be no need for that, Sosuke. He has a strong point and it would be wasteful of us to discard it without providing context on how his expression of such a point could be...troublesome.”

“What?” Luppi’s rage quieted, if only to be replaced by confusion. His eyes darted between Aizen and Sinister as he watched the latter approach and place a comforting arm around his shoulder. “Hey, I--!”

“Luppi, have you ever heard of a man named Emperor Nero?” Sinister’s warm smile seemed to cloud Luppi’s anger, forcing him into a childlike state of curiosity.

“Uh... _no_?” Luppi reached up to scratch his head as if to confirm his ignorance, pausing moments before to watch Sinister, hoping that every gesture he made was acceptable.

“Ah, then you have missed out! Emperor Nero once ruled over a place in the world of the living called the Roman Empire. He lavished himself with power, glory and expected to be revered by all who surrounded him. But, at heart, he was an artist, one who took full advantage of his position at a young age.” Sinister’s arm curled further around Luppi’s shoulders, his thumb idly stroking at the Espada’s cheek. “He believed that he was a true visionary, someone who could change the Roman Empire for good. Unfortunately, toward the end of his life, he was swallowed up by his own weakness and paranoia. His desire for a life outside of his bounds caused him to kill his family, murder an entire religious sect and even burn down his own city. His mind was so weak that he could not even bring it upon himself to be the author of his own end. He needed his closest advisors, his guards, to help him. You see, Luppi, despair follows ascension and madness follows godhood, especially for those that are never destined for such a life. It is the very reason that fate deals the hands it does --- to protect us. ”

“That’s...a wild story, Lord Maharana but uhh….what does that have to do with anything?” Luppi felt Sinister’s arm lift from his shoulders, sighing in relief.

“I always _did_ like to tell stories from my travels. You would not believe how _outrageous_ the Romans were. I always preferred the Greeks, personally.” Sinister turned his head to Orihime and Grimmjow, whose arm was nearly fully restored despite Orihime’s dazed state. “Restore his Espada rank as well, Orihime. You are doing wonderfully.”

Luppi’s throat ran dry when he heard Sinister’s command, preemptively backing away as his eyes widened. “Restore…. _his rank_? Wait, what’s going on?”

Sinister’s massive hand enveloped Luppi’s throat while thick fingers pressed against his skin, leaving only the smallest pathway for him to suck in oxygen. Once Luppi’s body was lifted off the ground, his legs went kicking and his mouth formed the familiar shape of pleading. “After living through the entirety of man’s existence on the Earth, I have found that the phrase ‘history is doomed to repeat itself’ is often rooted in truth. Case in point, Luppi, why have your thoughts been so focused on killing members of the Family lately?

“What?! That’s a lie! Hnggkk!” Sinister’s fingers clenched tight around Luppi’s neck, enough to bruise and to serve as a warning that, next time, they would sink through to his spine. “Lhhd..S...snnnstghhh!”

“That mark on your forehead is not a fashion statement, Luppi. All those within the Family are one, always under the watchful eye of the Father. It is only normal for those in the Family to quarrel and, in some instances, it is even encouraged to stimulate physical and intellectual growth. There is nothing wrong with sharpening the skills of a fellow brother or sister. However…” Sinister’s shadow elongated to connect with those of everyone except Luppi. While Aizen smirked, Sinister’s expression had dropped into a stoic gaze, a mixture of apathy and anger. “Such thoughts of murder decorating the background of your mind, further marred by this outburst of insubordinate, violent impatience, do not belong to a member of the Family. They belong to someone who was never destined for such a life. Someone poisoned by madness.”

Luppi’s eyes darted around to see the interconnected shadows of everyone else and the fidgeting, isolated darkness of his own. Panic consumed him while his mouth frothed, throat making any noise it could to form words that would stop Sinister from doing what he hoped he wouldn’t do. The sudden churn in his gut was joined by a burning sensation in his face, tears that soaked Sinister’s choking grip. Luppi’s face turned red from effort but he didn’t mind it, just as he didn’t mind his throbbing temples or thrumming heart. Every wheeze of oxygen he managed to squeeze into his body was just another moment he could exist, another chance he could pull something out of his ass to stop Sinister. The futility of his efforts were buried deep within his psyche but he delved deep into his madness. He couldn’t live his last moments with the truth.

The Yield only compounded his madness as Sinister’s Primordial Reiatsu increased, blurring the air with violent static. A deep, bone-rattling bass turned Luppi’s desperate pleas into repetitive gurgles, a loud bubbling slop of sloughing flesh and viscous blood. His bones popped like firecrackers in a multitude of snaps and cracks before being pulled through the river of gore that oozed from Sinister’s grip. The flailing, angry young Arrancar, in the span of a slow, dedicated five minutes, had changed from a solid to a liquid. The semisolid mass of disjointed limbs and amorphous features flattened against the throne room floor and his eyes, which vibrated wildly with every ounce of energy he had left to visually plead with his killer, eventually exploded. 

The obsidian beneath Sinister’s feet cracked and split from the intense gravity, forming a crater that Luppi’s crushed and crumbled body could collect in. Sinister looked down at his gurgling corpse, admiring the abstract art he had created, before Luppi’s remnants were pulled into him. Bone fragments tumbled across the floor to sink into his gelatinous flesh, blood slithered through cracks and crevices to glaze his dark body and every chunk of gore splashed against his sleek frame before sinking like chunks of meat in a thick chowder. Small, bestial mouths emerged from his muscle with sharp teeth snapping and snarling, swallowing whole what remained of the former Sexta Espada. Soon, there was nothing but the trace remnants that dripped from Sinister’s fingers. “Pity.”

Orihime snapped out of her dazed expression to show a face of sheer terror. Her eyes widened as she backed away from Grimmjow, barely paying attention to the Espada flexing his restored arm. Her head snapped from Sinister to Aizen and back again, raising her hands up to her mouth with eyes that creased with fresh tears. “You...what did you do?!”

“A good father reprimands his children.” Sinister craned his neck to look at Orihime. “And a good child heeds the word of their father. Restore Grimmjow’s rank, Orihime.”

Orihime shook her head quickly, eyes darting around the darkened room for a way out. “I...no...t-this is…!”

Orihime paused when she witnessed Sinister’s amalgamation of conjoined shadows disconnect from her. Her hands trembled as she watched Sinister idly rub Luppi’s blood between his fingers. “I will not ask again.”

Her heart was in her throat and every chance she had to speak was blocked by her own saliva-packed croaks, halfway between crying and vomiting. She raised a hand to her eyes and placed the other on Grimmjow’s side, regenerating the number along his lower back. Hitched sobs wet her palm with warm tears, leaving her to struggle on whether she should have remained standing or collapsed to the ground. Soon, the words came amidst a cacophony of hiccups, quiet belches and coughs that wrenched the phlegm from her throat. In seconds, she was on all fours, watching the solid obsidian distort into a dark lake through her tears. This was the first time she truly felt fragility. “Ich...hic!...Kcchnnghng!...go...puh..uh..uh...lease...I...hhhgggkk!...I...don..don’t...nnnn..nnnnn!...I..”

“Ichigo is not here, Orihime, but he soon shall be. Have patience and know that your obedience is a preface to your new life. The Pantheon’s essence within you is potent but it can still be extracted and, in its place, something beautiful can take root.” Sinister’s footsteps sounded muffled and loud in her head, like tribal drums that came before a ceremony. The air was growing thick again, ripping her out of herself and forcing her into that comforting, drowsy place. Her heart bludgeoned against her chest when she felt his uncomfortably comfortable warmth wrap around her shoulders, cinch her body and cup her cheeks, buoying her body in the thick, humid air. The putrid smell of Luppi’s hot, fresh corpse had all but faded, drifted away with any thought of dying. Now, there only remained the sweet pink mist and the glazed, starstruck eyes tilting up to Sinister’s helping hand. “It is time for the blessing, Orihime. “

Somewhere in her pheromone-addled mind, she knew what he meant. The scent of grapes, charcoal and lilacs had become all-encompassing. The beat of her heart was nearly deafening. The heat dared to tan her face, presenting something terrifying and inhuman from a muddy fog. She placed her hand in Sinister’s and brought her gaze down from his face, below his chest and to the monstrous pillar that hung before her. For only a moment, her lips scrambled to put together some form of “No.” But, eventually, her mouth clamped shut, teeth biting hard on the edge of her lip. She didn’t want to reject this reality.

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


_**Las Noches - Tres Cifras** _

“Uhhhhhhhhhh, Itsygo, are you _sure_ we’re going the right way?” Nel’s big eyes blinked rapidly as she clung to Ichigo’s back.

“Of course I am! Yeah. Sure…” It was about as much confidence Ichigo could muster while running through enemy territory. For the past hour, they had been maneuvering the dimly lit, rectangular corridor of some unknown building in Las Noches. The sound of Ichigo’s sandaled feet slapping against the smooth, granite floor was starting to take a toll on the teenager/ It didn’t help that Nel hard started to smack her lips to the repetitive noise. When he stopped, Nel rocked forward as Ichigo cautiously looked down to a part of the corridor that was now lit with wall-mounted torches. “The hell is that?”

“Hmmm? Looks like some kinda...person?” Nel squinted and leaned over Ichigo’s shoulder, almost to the point of falling over. “Wearing a dress?”

Cautiously, Ichigo adjusted his stride toward the torchlit end of the corridor and stepped into a large chamber fit for an emperor. Obsidian ebbed out from the stony granite of the corridor to line the floor and walls, pinned beneath lavish carpeting and busts of people long dead. A black carpet with gold trim guided Ichigo from the entrance toward the strange, ginger man who reclined in a marble throne. The man’s fingers idly tapped the ends of his lion head armrests, draped in a black and purple toga with shin-length sandals. Purple flecks danced in his eyes. As soon as Ichigo came into view, he reached up to stroke his somewhat unkempt chinstrap of a beard. “Hm, a new servant sent to me? And why aren’t you bowing? Why have you not brought me any offerings? Do you not know how to approach your emperor?”

“Nel, go hide.” Ichigo’s gut churned the longer his eyes were set on the man but he couldn’t tell if it was because of the Nether just beneath the surface or because of his atrocious facial hair. Nel hopped off of Ichigo’s back and skittered over to hide behind a shiny gold vase near the corner of the room. “Nice digs you got here but I’m not your servant. You don’t look like a Hollow. Just who the hell _are_ you?”

“Ha! I could _never_ be one of those _incomplete treasures_ , scrounging for food in that boundless desert of night. You have _thrice_ insulted me and have yet to identify yourself. How grievously insulting!” The man raised his hand, as if to present something glorious. “I once went by the name of Nero, when I was emperor of the Roman Empire. Who, my fellow fiery-headed youth, are _you_?”

“Tch! Yeah _right_. Are you trying to tell me you’re the maniac I read about in Miss Ochi’s class? Nice cosplay, pal.” Ichigo shook his head in disbelief. “I’m Ichigo Kurosaki and you’re standing in my way of rescuing Orihime, ‘Nero’ or whoever you are.”

Nero smiled and leaned forward in his seat. “Ahhh, and so the wild strawberry has fallen from his drooping branch, having tumbled across barren fields just to satisfy my hunger? Then the gift is your presence, one that I bless others with in kind.”

“You know, for a supposed tyrant, you get really annoying, really fast.” Ichigo turned his attention from Nero to a smaller corridor, the end of which was speckled with traces of moonlight. He started to walk around Nero and nearly gestured for Nel to follow him. “I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing but I don’t have time for one of Sinister’s schizo cultists playing make-believe.”

Before Ichigo could reach the entryway, his feet left the ground and his body was hurled backwards to smash into a nearby pillar. Ichigo pulled himself up out of the rubble to see Nero stepping from his throne to approach him. The infamous purple and black aura of the Nether flared up around Nero’s body while that smile grew ever wider. “I did many things in my mortal flesh that were questionable, surely, but I was no _tyrant_ ! I was simply _misunderstood_ . The mind of an artist always clashes with those who see nothing but straight lines and unshifting logic. Life is a beautiful, _evolving_ thing and I sit at the helm as one of its great potters, molding and shaping the future. However, my own future was crafted by the man you may know as Sinister. While I may have been Emperor Nero in my human life, under the service of Lord Maharana, I am Mallith Unz. _I_ had the great honor of becoming the _very first_ of his Nether Beasts.”

“N-Nether... _what?_ Hnngkk…” Ichigo managed to stagger to his feet and reached for his Zanpakuto. He felt a bruise along his chest and blood marinating his tongue. Along with Mallth’s identity, he was questioning how exactly he was stricken and why he couldn’t perceive it. 

“Hmph! Rude _and_ oblivious? If you were not one of Lord Maharana’s prodigal children, I would have severed your head from your shoulders by now! Fine then. I will banish some of your ignorance before I end your life.” Mallith reached up to adjust the laurel crown that graced his head, slowly circling Ichigo like a predator to prey. “Nether Beasts are Lord Maharana’s chosen elite, destined to eternally protect whatever he wills. While there are _eight_ of us in his original brigade, Lord Maharana has a tendency to add _more_ through his interdimensional conquests, blessing those truly worthy of becoming the ultimate representations of his will. Each of us were brought into this great honor as an act of mercy for the litany of sins we committed. We suffer our penance in an artistic flair that only Lord Maharana could ever conjure. _My_ sin, _naturally_ , is lasciviousness. The _flesh_ , the _empire_ , the _boundless_ lengths which my artistic vision could extend --- I delved deep into the waters of life, only to drown. How _tragic_!”

“God, would you shut _up?!_ ” Ichigo swung his sword out to cut Mallith across the chest, using it as a feint before his Shunpo. Appearing behind Mallith, Ichigo went to pierce him through the chest before stopping dead in his tracks. All because a whistle. It was a whistle that broke through the barriers of peculiar and annoying, instantly ascending to the level of debilitating pain. Ichigo pulled a hand from the hilt of his sword and immediately tried to plug one of his ears, clenching his teeth hard enough to summon a migraine. The noise ground into his skull until he lowered his blade, leaving him wide open for Mallith to backhand him into the obsidian wall, cracking both the dense mineral and Ichigo’s back. Through blurred vision, Ichigo saw Mallith’s slightly puckered lips and puffing cheeks help manufacture the sonic torture of his melodic but painful whistling. “Nggghyyyaaaaaahhh!”

“Yes, yes! _Scream for me_ , little strawberry! A duet is _most_ welcome.” Mallith watched blood drip from Ichigo’s ears as the teenager squinted at his words, one of the clearest signs that his hearing was starting to suffer. The Nether flared up around Mallith’s body as he whistled in little spurts, skipping in place every time Ichigo’s kneeling body jerked in synchronized pain. “Although it is not surprising, I _am_ disappointed! To be brought to the cusp of defeat, just from my _Melodiam Infernum_ \--- tsk tsk tsk. And here I assumed you were worthy of a _gladiator’s battle_! But it looks as though you will be fed to the lions.”

Ichigo could barely get off his knees, let alone hold onto his Zanpakuto with a steady grip. He reached to wipe the thin streams of blood from his ears and watched Mallith’s lips purse again, screaming only to himself. He couldn’t hear Nel or even the melodic pain that came from Mallith’s mouth. All he could hear was a loud, persistent ringing and the chaotic throbs of his blood. Pain radiated up his spine and forced his limbs to tremble, thinking that, at any moment, his head would explode from the devilish frequency. Ichigo’s eyes locked onto the Theta symbol in the center of Mallith’s forehead, a putrid shade of purple that pulsed beneath the flesh. Paralyzed from the pain, Ichigo could only watch in horror as the emperor from hell whistled his dirge.

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 23 End_ **


	24. Dethroned

_ "What an artist dies in me!” _

  
  


  * Emperor Nero



  
  
  
  
  


Details melted away and any sense of shape had vanished from Ichigo’s eyes, becoming blurred colorations at best. Death was making a slow reach for him, clutching at his bones, but it stopped at the same time he could make out a faint green blur. It darted around in front of his eyes while the colors of black and purple flailed about, almost as if the colors were dancing in front of him. There was a wetness that came upon his cheek, then in his hair and, soon, a wet slosh on his entire face. Although moving was a bit out of the question, he did internally lament the fact that the substance, whatever it was, had made its way into his ears. Before he could assume that this was just another delusional step before death, he took hold of hope. Hope in the form of a screaming Nel. “You leave Itsygo alone, you big fat  _ beardyneck _ !”

“N...Nel…” Ichigo’s ringing faded with Nel’s screaming and Mallith Unz’s frustration coming in heated shouts. The chilling vibrations that rattled his bones and excruciating pain that threatened to burst his skull joined the haunting place of a nightmare, terrors long gone. Once his vision started to sharpen, he pulled a hand up to wipe away what felt like slime only to see that it was a byproduct of Nel hocking wads of spit, some of them chunky loogies from her partial crying, in Mallith’s face. The so-called emperor had his hands full trying to swat the little Arrancar, hacking and coughing from her unnaturally viscous saliva clogging up the works. Ichigo soon regained a tight grip on his Zanpakuto and stood to his feet. “What the----Nel!”

“Ugh! Get  _ off _ of me, you wretched gremlin! How  _ dare _ you sully the garment of--ggbbnnhh!!---of an emperor!---gggnnkkk!--- _ would you stop spitting on me?! _ ?” Mallith tried countless times to grab hold of Nel to throw her off but her saliva seemed to slick his fingers each time, letting her slip out of his hold and repeat the process. Mallith knocked into marble busts, golden vases and even his own throne, sandaled feet slapping just as furiously as when Ichigo was making his way through the corridor. Nel took full advantage to annoy him more and smacked her lips to match the sound. Mallith’s aristocratic, almost whiny voice briefly dipped into a more malevolent timbre when purple beams of Nether erupted from his eyes and launched Nel against the wall. “ _ Away _ from me, you  _ worm _ !”

Mallith’s eyes smoked with Nether as his face contorted with rage, quickly following up his attack with another destructive burst. Nel raised her hands to cover her face only to have the beams of energy slam against the flat of Ichigo’s blade, deflecting them back at the emperor. Mallith was jostled by the force but kept his form, eyes still glowing with dark energy. “That little rat bought you nothing but a few more seconds of false hope. Let us continue your swan song, young strawberry!”

But this time, the hellacious whistle that had just brought Ichigo to the brink of death, Mallith’s  _ Melodiam Infernum _ , was just an annoying little song. Ichigo felt a different vibration in his ear, the slight wiggling of something wet. When he reached to rub inside his ear, he knew that Nel had saved his life, whether she realized it or not. Although most of the thick globs of snot and saliva Nel had assaulted them with had fallen off, there had still been a thin layer of her mucous that managed to stick to his ear canal. It almost felt like he was wearing headphones, safe behind a limit Mallith couldn’t breach. Mallith only grew angrier the more Ichigo stood there, defiant and healthier than ever. “Gonna have to sing a different song. I heard this one already.”

“Tch!  _ Insolent little _ \---” Mallith sighed and extended his arm out to the side, letting his shadow materialize a gladius. “I suppose not  _ everyone _ can be so appreciative of my musical talents. If the  _ performing _ arts are more your speed, then I will happily oblige!”

Mallith was on Ichigo from the tail end of his declaration, clashing against his Zanpakuto with his gladius. Despite his unassuming figure, Mallith packed more than enough strength to make Ichigo sweat. By the third strike, they were moving through the throne room at high speed, every blow bringing them closer and closer to a decisive hit. In the midst of their skirmish, Mallith managed to parry one of Ichigo’s swings and moved in to impale him through the chest. But Ichigo leaned into the momentum of the parry, spinning his body around to both avoid the thrust and sever Mallith’s arm just below the elbow. The edge of Ichigo’s Zanpakuto nicked Mallith’s brow at the end of his swing and the teenager took the opportunity to get some distance, quickly looking back to see small patches of Nel’s skin having withered away. “Nel, are you okay?!”

“If it were not for the miraculous slime that little runt generated, she most likely would  _ not _ be. The Nether is something far beyond your comprehension, little strawberry. It is a primordial energy that both destroys…” Ichigo turned around to see Mallith smiling at him, the latter’s black blood quickly reshaping his lost arm. From a foundation of black slime, bubbling and wretched, his arm’s pale complexion and smooth skin returned with fingers flexing like new. The cut above his eye sealed itself with a small trail of blood slithering back into the wound. “...and rebuilds. Your usual hack and slash methods will not prevail here, I am afraid. No one defeats the emperor, especially not some ungrateful brat like you.”

“Ungrateful?! What the hell are you talking about?” Ichigo swung his sword to the side, flicking off droplets of Mallith’s blood. “If you’re expecting some thanks for trying to  _ whistle _ me to death or for hurting Nel, keep dreaming.”

“Lord Maharana offered you a  _ gift _ , you insolent  _ fool _ ! It is a gift that most men would die for, something  _ I _ died for.” Mallith turned to a marble bust of himself that was now chipped and broken in a few places. He ran his hand along the rough grooves and fresh edges. “You have no idea what kind of opportunity you rejected, do you? Can you  _ imagine _ how many men would scour the ends of the Earth to become immortal? To be a part of something greater than themselves? And yet you stand here, stubborn and ignorant in your youth, hoping to crush the greatest masterpiece mankind may have ever witnessed? And for what? Those robed barbarians? That drooling gremlin?! If anyone here has been possessed by madness, it is  _ you _ .”

“I’ll never become like you. If being immortal means bowing down to that walking oil slick you call Father and hurting my friends, then no thanks.” Ichigo’s Reiatsu swirled around his body like a cyclone as his eyes glowed blue. “ **Bankai** !”

“Stylish transformation, little strawberry. Even that  _ sword _ of yours looks much more elegant than the giant hunk of steel you were carrying around before. Unfortunately, this will do you  _ no good _ ! As I mentioned before, you are simply buying yourself a few moments more of life.” Mallith raced across the throne room to clash once more with Ichigo, shocked to find that every swipe of his gladius was matched not only with Ichigo’s black katana but the smug expression of someone who knew they were better than him. Ichigo pressed forward, combining his Shunpo with feints to create a close-quarter sword fight that eventually forced Mallith to play a game of tag with the Shinigami. “ _ Damn _ you! How can you have gotten so  _ strong _ in such a short amount of time?!”

“Don’t tell me  _ your lordship _ is getting cold feet now that he’s face to face with a real warrior, is he? I thought you were ready for a r _ eal _ fight, one fit for a gladiator? Well, here it is!  _ Hnnyyyaaagh _ !” Ichigo took advantage of a strong parry, smashing Mallith’s gladius to the side, and sliced him across the chest. His blade cut through the dual-toned toga and dug into his body, opening a wide gash for his blood to spew. But before Mallith could pull away, a surge of blue energy roared out to finish his swing. “ _ Getsuga Tenshou!” _

One side of Mallith’s entire upper body was eviscerated in the devastating blast, black blood delegated to a thick cloud around his body from the force of his attack. The dark liquid writhed from the wound like tendrils as his one remaining eye glared at Ichigo’s determined, smug face. Torn shreds of his toga hung from the rest of his body while he snatched up his gladius with his other hand. “You…. _ you _ …..!”

“Serves you  _ right _ ,  _ beardyneck _ !” Nel stuck out her tongue to blow a loud, wet raspberry and pressed her thumbs on her ears while wagging her hands.

The purple flecks in Mallith’s eye started to glimmer, focusing on Nel. “Silence!”

Nel puffed up her cheeks, pouted her lips and slipped one arm out of her small green robe to imitate Mallith’s mannerisms. She pulled her hair down to tie it into a knot just beneath her chin. Her voice cracked as it raised in pitch, her little feet marching around in circles. “Bwuh bwuh bwuh, I am your empewah! Bwuh bwuh bwuh, my whistling sucks! Bwuh bwuh bwuh, bow before my pasty face!”

Ichigo saw the black blur that threatened to race past him, spotting the edge of Mallith’s gladius in his peripheral. His body moved before his mind could, rushing to put him between Nel and the blade that ran through his chest. Ichigo’s blood coated Mallith’s steel as the teenager looked down at Nel, his hands trembling from the pain. “N..Nel...are you...okay?”

“Itsygo…..!” Nel’s disposition changed in an instant and her eyes started to well up with tears, big innocent jewels reflecting Ichigo’s agony. “I...I’m sowwy, Itsygo…”

“You  _ should _ be, you foolish brat! Ridiculing an emperor is grounds for  _ immediate _ execution!” Mallith twisted his blade in Ichigo’s chest, forcing out a fresh spurt of blood to stain Nel’s cheek. Ichigo grit his teeth with heavy grunts, feeling the blood rush through clenched teeth and spill down his chin. He felt his innards clinging to the double-edged blade, swirling around the brutal skewer like fresh pasta. It wasn’t long before he started to retch. Conversely, the thick tendrils of blood from Mallith’s body were already intertwining, weaving together to regenerate most of his body. “But first, you will watch this boy  _ die _ , slowly and painfully. Then you will cross over with the knowledge that I am to be  _ revered _ , to be  _ praised _ ! An artist that  _ deserves _ to have his canvas gazed upon in marvel and splendor!”

Ichigo wanted to tap into his adolescent rage, to respond to Mallith the same way he responded to any bully that tried to pick on someone far smaller than them. But he knew that was exactly what Sinister wanted, what the sick, twisted Family wanted. With his guts threatening to slide down Mallith’s blade, Ichigo understood that he couldn’t see his enemies as people to be extinguished but souls to be saved. He tilted his head down with an orange curtain of hair covering his eyes. The grip on his sword trembled immensely as the chain rattled without end. “I know….that you’re scared, Nero…”

“What?! Hahahaha! Have you become delirious with pain, little strawberry?” Mallith’s voice was strong but the twisting of his sword had slowed to a stop.

“He might have...given you a new name...corrupted you….but you’re the same, paranoid little kid you were...all those years ago.” Ichigo spit blood off to the side and gripped the edge of Mallith’s gladius. “You did...what you thought was right. Driven mad….put into power at a young age with all that….responsibility on your shoulders. I know….what that’s like. Having the fate of your friends, your family….in your hands.”

Mallith tried to dig the blade deeper into Ichigo’s body but, instead, all that came was a persistent trembling. Conversely, Ichigo’s own tremors were calming. “You know  _ nothing _ of me! I am Nero no  _ longer _ ! My name is Mallith Unz, Nether Beast and emperor under Lord Maharana!”

“No matter what you do….you can’t run away from your fate. The more you deny it...the harder it is to accept...when it finally comes.” Ichigo’s eyes shifted to a bright white as a cyan aura quickly flared up around his body. The grip around Mallith’s gladius intensified to the point of shattering its steel into brittle fragments, forcing the emperor to step back. “Your running stops here, Nero. Today, you’ll meet fate. You’ll finally rest.”

A wave of Aether blew Mallith clear across the throne room to crash against the obsidian wall and the surface of his skin started to burn and sizzle. Thick clouds of smoke fumed from his cooking flesh as he screamed and desperately flailed his limbs to push himself out of the fresh crater, running to his throne. “Nggghhhh! Dammit! Why won’t you just  _ die?! Hnnngggg! _ ”

Ichigo took advantage of Nero’s pained tantrum to check on Nel. She watched his wounds heal with miraculous speed but whimpered and moved away when he tried to touch her. When Ichigo saw the terrified look in her eyes and her shivering body, his mind flashed back to Orihime. Stopping short of touching Nel’s face, he stepped away from her with a warm expression and turned to face Mallith. “Stay here, Nel. I’ll take care of him. Then we’ll keep going and find our friends. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

“The Aeeeether. How can Lord Maharana call  _ you _ a  _ prospect _ when you wield the  _ Aether?! _ ” Mallith slammed his hands against the armrests of his throne, nearly crushing them in the process. Smoke continued to billow from his body and all traces of his clothing had vanished. The emperor’s grunts and disturbed muttering soon devolved into a round of whimpering sobs as he collapsed on his knees in front of his throne. His arms slipped inward to cover his head that rested against the marble seat. Unlike his earlier wounds, the layers of burned flesh were extremely slow to heal, if not outright refusing to mend in some places. “When you don’t know who to trust...the power….the power is the  _ only _ consistent thing you know. I tried my best and my family wanted me  _ dead _ . My followers called me  _ mad _ , disregarded my artistry, my passions. Even the love of a spouse withered in my presence, soured by this insanity. But the  _ power _ ….the  _ power _ was always there, ripe for use.”

“If you rely too much on your power, on your emotions, they’ll destroy you. But I fought it too. I defeated that darkness, that temptation.” Ichigo stepped closer to Mallith with an outstretched hand, his Aether aura clearing away most of the smoke to expose his charred body. “You can reject the power that you’ve relied on for so long and find a new strength in yourself.”

“ _Relinquish my power? Reject my birthright?_ ” Mallith turned his head to stare at Ichigo with eyes that burned with Nether as his body started to flare with the necrotic energy. His voice lowered again, this time with enough bass to cause the room to quake. “On the contrary, _Ichigo Kurosaki_ , I will _submit_ to this power. I will let it rend my soul _asunder_ and show _everyone_ that _it is the only thing I ever need!_ **_B L A C K O U T!_** ”

Ichigo knew of Bankai and had an inkling about the Arrancars’ Resurreccion but never before had he heard any transformation, or witnessed a display, as bizarre as the Blackout Ceremony. The Theta symbol in the center of Mallith’s forehead “broke”, splitting in two as a pillar of Nether rocketed from his body and through the ceiling. His preceding scream, raw in its destruction of his throat, soon turned into the high-pitched screech of a bird. The throne room quaked as Mallith’s arms ripped themselves apart between the ring finger and middle fingers of his hands, his bones warping into the skeletal foundation for avian wings. His eyes bulged to three times their size as his pupils were replaced with the luminescent purple glow of the Nether. The skin of Mallith’s entire upper body was forcefully sloughed away and quickly replaced with the head and neck of a giant, red and black songbird.

Ichigo stepped back as he watched in horror, nearly flinching when the ghoulish bone structure of Mallith’s new wings were lit aflame. Malith’s legs grew twice as long as they should have with bones snapping, shifting and multiplying to a total of eight. The multitude of his legs had restructured into that of an equine while they jutted from the bloated abdomen of an arachnid, four on each side. The spilled blood was summoned back to the chimeric abomination to form black and gold armor from the neck down. With but a few destructive flaps of his wings, Mallith Unz took flight, leaving an inferno in his wake. Ichigo snatched up Nel and rushed through the makeshift opening in the ceiling, leaving the room to implode with chunks of rubble and a massive plume of fire. Ichigo landed on the sands of Hueco Mundo, setting Nel behind one of the broken slabs that had landed elsewhere. “Nel, are you okay?!”

Nel pushed Ichigo away with tears streaming down her cheeks. She brushed herself down and clung to the debris, trying to hide her face from Ichigo as if ashamed. “N..Nel is okay, Itsygo….”

“ _ Gaze upon me, Ichigo Kurosaki! Let my countenance fill you with terror so as to NEVER question my authority again!” _ Being outside gave Ichigo a greater perspective on just how large Mallith became in his transformed state, watching a chimera twice the size of an SUV hover in the air with his fires burning through the night sky. “ _ What you see is the power you COULD have had, the freedom you SHOULD have accepted! But you are NOT worthy to join the Family. I will roast your flesh for the carrion to feast upon!” _

“A fucking...bird...spider...horse?  _ This _ is what you call a  _ blessing _ ? Your power has twisted you, Nero. Robbed you of your  _ humanity _ .” Ichigo swiped his sword out to his side and darted through the desert sands to approach Mallith head-first. “I’ll save you from this bondage.”

“ _ Oh really?!” _ Ichigo took to the skies with a mighty leap and stunning display of Shunpo that brought him from A to B before even Nel realized it. But Ichigo went from staring Mallith’s grotesque body in the face to swinging his blade through thin air. His eyes widened as he felt the deafening crack of Mallith’s armored hooves slamming against his back all at once, launching him further through the air. Ichigo caught himself and turned around only to see an empty desert sky, head turning on a swivel. He knew he could sense him but his eyes were constantly playing catch-up. He could hear him but that was as far as he could manage, even with the Aether flowing through his body. “ _ I think the person you need to focus on saving is yourself!” _

“Hnnggykkaa!” Ichigo felt the harsh blow of Mallith’s armored hooves smash against his body, pushing him around in the air and forcing him to turn about to face empty space. He could feel him, he could hear him but he couldn’t get any kind of visual. Thinking him to be invisible, he swung his sword out to eviscerate the air, hoping that one of his swings would disable his cloaking and bring him out of hiding. But nothing pushed back against his blade and every arc of his Zanpakuto completed without any kind of impedance. In his frantic search to find Mallith, his eyes settled on his shadow that the moon stretched along the sand and noticed how odd it looked. How it had wings. As soon as he put it together, his body jerked around to face a wall of fire that Mallith vomited from his beak. “Damn it!”

“ _ Merging with the shadows is a power that Lord Maharana grants only to a chosen few! You should not have been able to deduce my whereabouts so quickly! Perhaps your potential was not completely erroneous but now you will BURN!” _ Mallith’s flames quickly changed to the color of Nether, wrapping Ichigo in a dark inferno that his Aether frantically tried to keep from devouring him. The force between the two primordial elements was akin to the repulsion of a magnet, sapping Ichigo’s energy by the second to keep it at bay.

“Gnnnhhh…. _ Getsuga….TENSHOU!”  _ Ichigo cut through the flames with a sharp wave of Aether but missed the teleporting chimera by mere moments. He reappeared directly in front of Ichigo to attack him with a flurry of pecks that the teenager was sweating bullets just to parry. The clash continued to intensify when his flurry of beak pecking was interspersed with surprise blasts of Nether flame, keeping Ichigo on the defensive while slowly draining the Aether from his body. In just over a minute, Ichigo’s breathing became labored and his sword strikes slowed. Mallith took full advantage, vanishing and reappearing in place to mix up his attack even more. Ichigo was momentarily dumbfounded and spewed a mouthful of blood from Mallith’s hooves smashing into his chest simultaneously. “Hynnggaaaaah!”

“ _ How pitiful! Just like a peasant to discard any shred of glory bestowed upon him by an emperor!” _ Ichigo jerked back into a standing position and switched to wielding his Zanpakuto with both hands. When he saw the wings on his shadow again, he moved to react only to find that his speed was more outmatched than he thought. Mallith’s body twitched and blurred from one place to another, forcing Ichigo to use the upper limits of his Shunpo training just to keep up with the fading colors of his movement. From almost every angle and every side, Ichigo struggled to parry the stampede of his hooves, feeling as though he were fighting against the might of eight people at once. The rising temperature from Mallith’s flapping wings made breathing nearly unbearable, wicking away every bit of moisture that lined his lungs and evaporating the thin barrier of Nel’s protective mucus in his ears. That’s when Ichigo felt the pain of a sudden, piercing chirp, Mallith’s  _ Melodiam Infernum _ , that wretched Hell Melody. It was worse than before, acting more like a bone-shattering shockwave than the painful annoyance it once was.

Ichigo’s body fell from the sky and into the saving grip of Mallith’s arachnid-shaped horse legs. He could barely maintain his grip on his Zanpakuto and the glow of the Aether flickered along his body while Mallith allowed his deep well of Nether to blaze in opposition. Even though his hearing was mostly shot, Ichigo heard a muffled version of Mallith’s boasting as the chimera’s legs curled inward, slowly crushing him to death. “ _ What a fool! Depending on the Aether as a deus ex machina? No god in this world, or the pathetic power they wield, can save you from my grasp!” _

Mallith’s powerful horse legs flexed their muscles beneath the scalding hot armor that started roasting Ichigo’s flesh and setting his robe aflame. Every time Ichigo tried to tap into the Aether, Mallith countered it with more and more bursts of Nether, leaving Ichigo with little more than broken bones and a dry, pitiful wheeze that started out as a bloodcurdling scream. Nel could be heard sniffling and crying from afar. Even through his blurred vision, Ichigo saw Nel wrestle with herself on whether or not to join the fray. “N..Nel...r...un…”

Ichigo’s broken body, squeezed of blood and moisture, was released from Mallith’s grip to fall through the sky and hit the sandy dunes below. His limbs went akimbo and his Zanpakuto flew from his flailing grip to impale the sands nearby, leaving him to hear the closing footsteps of Nel. “Itsygo! Itsygooo! Don’t die, Itsygo!”

Nel paused just a few feet from Ichigo’s body, the Aetheric glow gone and his eyes barely open. Ichigo’s mouth wheezed and his bones crackled with every exhale, fingers twitching in pain. Nel’s fear of touching Ichigo, of coming in contact with the Aether, made her heart race faster than it ever had before. Her tears came from a mixed dwelling of fear for herself and for Ichigo but, beyond them both, she was afraid of being alone. Of losing yet another friend. Her little arms wrapped around Ichigo’s neck as she pulled him into a hug, the tears from her big eyes soaking his face. “D-don’t die...Itsygooooo!”

_ “A blessing! I can burn you AND the gremlin all at once. Count yourself among the few who have been lucky enough to witness TRUE POWER!” _ Mallith flapped his wings to ignite the skies in a wreath of flame before unleashing a conflagration on Ichigo and Nel. Purple and black fire flared from his beak to create a bonfire of titanic proportions, having the upper limits of his flames lap at the skies. His laughter grew wild in its lunacy, periodically chirping from his excitement of killing the two. In fact, it lasted quite a while, much longer than Mallith thought it would. After a minute of breathing hellfire down upon Ichigo and Nel, the itching thought soon became an obsession: why could he still sense their energy?

The answer came in the form of a blinding cyan light that not only pierced through his roaring flames but severed one of his wings at the shoulder, leaving Mallith to watch it unfurl into a cloud of ash. This wasn’t the simple strike of a Shinigami’s blade that he could shrug off. This was pain, the burning, scalding pain of Aether that he couldn’t dare match. Mallith screeched, hurriedly trying to flap away from the sight of Ichigo fully imbued with the Aether while standing in front of Nel. “ _ No...no no no no! You can not do this! My power is greater than yours! You should be DEAD!” _

“So should you.” Another blinding slash of Aether severed Mallith’s remaining wing, sending him plummeting from the sky to crash against the dunes. Mallith struggled to get back on his feet, opening his beak to screech his  _ Melodiam Infernum _ just to welcome the impaling blade of Ichigo’s Zanpakuto. “But you clung to life, even going so far as to sacrifice your humanity, your mind, your soul, all for the sake of power. It led to your death in the human world and it will be your end here, Nero. I see power as a way to protect, to preserve. It fights besides me, protects me when I need it to. But you let power devour you, swallowing every part of you until you couldn’t even call yourself human anymore. I don’t fear the monster you’ve become. I pity you.”

“ _ HOW DARE YOU PITY ME! You are utter FILTH! My defeat here means NOTHING! Lord Maharana will ANNIHILATE YOU!” _ Mallith’s words came through a wall of gurgling blood that was being evaporated from the intense aura of Ichigo’s Aether. His hives violently stomped and trampled the sand as his body tried to jerk and pull away from his own impalement. But Ichigo’s blade refused to depart Mallith’s flesh.

Ichigo’s pupils were washed away by the blinding illumination of the Aether, forming a dual tone of white and cyan along his entire body. When he spoke, it came with a booming echo of confirmation, words that pierced Mallith’s soul. “ **_Mallith Unz, I release you!_ ** ”

A final screech came from Mallith’s dying body as he violently burned away in the Aetheric flame “ _ ACHLYS BE PRAISED!” _

Ichigo’s arm remained extended as the Aether flowed through his body for a few moments longer, making sure that all that stood before him were the scorch marks of a victory lining the sands of Hueco Mundo. When the Aether eventually faded, Ichigo took a knee and stabbed the earth with his Zanpakuto, feeling Nel’s cheek press against his. “Itsygo! Itsygo! Are you okay?”

“Yeah...y...I’m...I’m f...hnng…” Ichigo was alive but he felt anything but fine. His body was drained more than usual, even for an intense fight. There was a lingering sense of fatigue that even a few minutes of deep breathing and rest couldn’t touch. But he couldn’t rest for long and decided to push through it. He pulled Nel up to rest on his shoulders, took one last look at the smoldering sands and darted off to continue his journey. “I’m fine, Nel. Let’s go find our friends.”

  
  


💀 💀 💀

  
  


_**Tres Cifras - Elsewhere** _

Yasutora Sado made his way through the brightly lit corridor until a sudden dimming of the lights forced him to stop dead in his tracks. Torches ignited along the walls of an even larger corridor with ceilings that reached higher than he could see, guiding his eye to an Asian man clad in black armor that belonged to a time long past. His long black hair was tied up in a bun and his face was as still and stern as stone. Perched on his outstretched arm was a black eagle that stared at Yasutora with similar intensity. Once Yasutora saw that both the man and his bird had flecks of purple in their eyes, he entered a defensive stance. “Are you an Arrancar?”

“No.” The man’s voice was commanding and thick, every word aimed directly at Yasutora. It was then that the Mark of Theta was revealed on his throat, pulsing with Nether. “I am war.”

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 24 End_ **


	25. Give Me Strength

_ "An action committed in anger is an action doomed to failure.” _

  
  


  * Genghis Khan



  
  
  
  
  


“Are you some kind of soldier, then? That armor looks ancient.” Yasutora was doing all he could to not give the air of fear to the armored man before him. Little did he know, the man was more adept at sensing terror than anyone else.

“ _ Conqueror _ would be a better term.” The man flicked his arm out to his side, giving the perched eagle permission to bolt off into the darkness with its glowing eyes leaving faint trails of light. “Then again, there have been many names I’ve gone by in my previous life. Temujin. Warlord. Genghis Khan. But you may address me by the name Lord Maharana appointed to me in my death -  _ Kriffal Vintus _ .”

Yasutora raised a brow at the final name the supposed conqueror spoke, almost caught off guard by how matter-of-factly he spoke to him. “I knew that armor looked familiar. Never would have thought the famed Mongolian emperor would be here in Hueco Mundo, though. This is too surreal.”

“There are others who have hunted for the Nether through history, using it as the foundation for their success only to fall prey to their own sins.” Kriffal’s eyes flashed purple and the flames that danced from the steel torches flickered violently. “Some much greater than others.”

Suddenly, Yasutora’s body felt an incredible gravitational pull, dragging him closer and closer to the floor until he had to struggle just to stay off his knees. His right arm flexed with the activation of  _ Brazo Derecha el Gigante _ , however, and allowed him to stand back to his feet. His cautious stare returned. “That...power….is that the Nether? Feels like...Reiatsu...but…”

“More  _ potent _ . It is called Primordial Reiatsu, a powerful version of spiritual pressure that only those who are completely devoted to Aether or Nether can access.” Kriffal tilted his head while Yasutora stood firm against the increased gravity. His eyes went to the maroon and black armor that covered Yasutora’s arm, staring for what felt like hours, then slowly drew his eyes back to the teenager. “You wield a piece of the Pantheon, of your  _ god _ . Hm. So  _ that’s _ how you can resist being crushed. Interesting.”

“Power of a god? I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about. I don’t have time to talk with you. I have to keep moving and find my friend, Orihime.” Yasutora started to take a few steps forward, pushing further against the gravity with his eyes locked on Kriffal. 

“Ah, that red headed girl? I’m afraid you are too late. Lord Maharana has already assimilated her into the Family. Your trespassing carries no weight and, now, you carry no purpose. Unless you desire to submit yourself to the Family as well, you would do well to turn back and save yourself the effort of dying.” Torches started to light the way through the hallways behind Yasutora as Kriffal crossed his arms over his chest. “But I do not think someone like you is ready to join our ranks just yet.”

“This doesn’t make any sense. You  _ have _ to be lying.” Yasutora continued to step forward, clenching his armored fist.

“About what?” Kriffal tilted his head, genuinely confused.

“About  _ everything _ . There’s  _ no way _ you are Genghis Khan. He died millennia ago.” Yasutora planted his feet firmly against the ground, standing just an arms-length away from Kriffal with a stern glance. “And Orihime would  _ never _ join people like you, which means you kidnapped and brainwashed her for whatever sick purposes you plan to use her for. That, I can’t allow.”

“And where do you think we are, young  _ fool _ ? This is a realm of  _ spirits _ , a realm of the  _ dead _ . Lord Maharana’s power is beyond what you could possibly conceive.” Kriffal snorted. “And I am most certain that your friend is being blessed by Sinister as we speak. As I said before, your only option is to go home.”

“No. I’ll just go  _ through you _ !” Yasutora smashed his armored fist across Kriffal’s face but, besides the slight jostle of his helmet and the small jerk of his chin, Yasutora’s punch had done little, if any, damage. He stood there in shock, fresh sweat trailing down his face, as Kriffal glared through him, letting the teenager’s heart flutter in fear and disbelief. “What the--”

“Hmph. You punch like a  _ drunkard _ .” In a single, fluid motion, Kriffal snapped his head back to force Yasutora’s fist from his face and delivered his own debilitating hook. Kriffal’s knuckles slammed against Yasutora’s throat with a loud crack, forcing him to stumble backwards and spew blood-stained saliva through clenched teeth. “Lord Maharana has shown us many things about you, Yasutora Sado, including how much you love to protect those dear to you. It is noble for a warrior to protect their comrades but also foolish to charge into certain danger without a plan. If all you have planned is swinging at me like a dazed animal, then there is a strong chance you will die here. Maybe if you were purged of the godly heresy that flows through you, Lord Maharana would offer you the chance to beg to join the Family. ”

“Mi familia esta muerta.” Yasutora spit a mixture of saliva and blood on the ground before running up to Kriffal and unleashing a more powerful punch brimming with energy that made the conqueror stumble backwards in kind. Driving from his heel with a quick twist of his hips, Yasutora’s punch mirrored the slug of a boxer. 

“Mmm...better. That punch had some  _ technique _ behind it. Less flailing and more precise. I could feel you channeling your rage instead of mindlessly releasing it. Unfortunately, punches won’t get you anywhere. I reign supreme in that field of expertise.” Whether he was falling prey to the trick of the dim light produced by the embers of the torches or that previous punch had done more damage than he thought, Yasutora felt someone or something take hold of his shirt. All he knew is that, whoever or whatever it was, it wasn’t Kriffal. He was standing perfectly still a few feet away from him with one arm resting and the other one cocked back to smash his fist into his face. Yasutora’s feet left the ground and his body flew across the room, smashing against the far wall. Even in the fresh moments of him resting in the crater, Yasutora tried to rationalize how he was snatched into Kriffal’s punch, whether or not his eagle had anything to do with it and why, for the first time in a long time, he was bleeding.

Kriffal walked toward Yasutora with heavy, armored steps that echoed in the empty corridor. “Do you know why your punches do so little to me, Yasutora? It is the difference in our  _ suffering _ . You should know that all strength is gained through suffering. A brute suffers the destruction and reconstruction of their body to become stronger than the feeble commoners. A martial artist suffers countless injuries and wounds in order to achieve the strength to master their body. A warrior suffers the loss of their brethren, of their body and of their soul before they can gain the strength to lead an army. Even those whose talents lie in the mind must suffer incredible mental anguish before they can teach and instruct the next generation. You, however, are too young. You have not suffered enough to defeat me, who has lived for millenia and suffered more than you could imagine.”

Before Yasutora could respond, that feeling came again, that fear of the phantom grip. This time, it tried to snatched him out of the crater while Kriffal was even further away and his eyes couldn’t catch sight of that bird he’d released just before their encounter. But he  _ did _ manage to catch sight of the hand itself. It was small, nearly half the size of Kriffal’s hands and, to his horror, slithering out of Kriffal’s body. Plates of armor were moved aside so that it could race out to grab him but Yasutora had just barely managed to dart from the hole. The shoulder of his armored limb opened up like the flaming exhaust from a car engine, blazing with Reiatsu. His body raced forward just as Kriffal’s shadow limb tried to slither back between the armor plates, smashing his fist into, what he assumed was, Kriffal’s soft point. “ _ El Directo! _ ”

But, through his shout, Yasutora was nearly drained of his renewed vigor when he heard the scream of a child after his successful strike. He watched Kriffal stumble back with even more pain than before, nearly taking a knee as his suited body skid across the room, leaving a trail of dust in his path. He was certain, even with their brief exchange, that whoever’s scream that was, it wasn’t Kriffal’s. “Freaky…was that…?”

“Your strikes are improving but I must stress that they are still no match for me. You make short climbs upon an insurmountable mountain.” Kriffal straightened himself out, feet planted firmly on the ground with echoing, metallic clanks. The armor that once pulled apart for the dark hand had slid shut, leaving only the purple glint of his eyes for Yasutora to focus on. Seconds passed in the silence as they both sized one another up, letting the idle, flickering sounds of the wall torches continue to stoke their spirits. Kriffal made the first move, dashing toward Yasutora with a loud, destructive upheaval of obsidian and concrete in his wake. 

Yasutora instinctively raised his  _ Brazo Derecha de Gigante _ to form a shield and successfully blocked Kriffal’s first right hook. But he couldn’t do much more. The first blow had saved him from any direct damage but the force behind it was far more monstrous than his previous punch, toppling him off his feet and throwing him across the corridor. He had little time to adjust and found out just how quickly Kriffal could move, raising his shield again to barely protect his face from being smashed in by his next punch. Yasutora heard his shield crack from the third blow, pinned against the ground and wondering whether or not a few more seconds of safety was worth losing his arm. He had flashbacks to Yammy’s destructive power and decided to roll out of the way at the last second, witnessing a fresh crater born out of Kriffal’s missed punch. 

Kriffal eyed him down as he pulled his body up from the kneeling position and sped toward him with a debilitating headbutt, meeting skull with what felt like iron. Blood rushed from Yasutora’s nostrils as his eyes dreadfully focused on the fist that turned his face into broken work of clay. A loud whoosh, a hard thud and Yasutora was nearly out of the battle. Aside from the fact that he was actually fighting one of the greatest warlords in history, empowered by Sinister no less, Yasutora, in his pain-addled daze, had to accept the fact that another direct punch like that could have possibly killed him. The sudden jolt of adrenaline, mostly from the shock of how hot and wet his face felt, helped his legs scramble the rest of him against a wall. From what he could see through the trails of blood that dripped from his brows, Kriffal was walking toward him with the same slow, determined pace he did when he had put him in a crater. He tried to flex his shielded arm but only managed to widen the cracks of injury, forcing more blood to drip from his wounds. Besides letting his wobbly legs help push him against the wall, all Yasutora could do was pull away the blood-soaked curtain of hair that usually fell over his eyes. That was when Kriffal’s hand wrapped around Yasutora’s face with fingers gently sinking against broken flesh.

“You never should have come here. You are still just a  _ child _ , playing with things that make even grown men recoil in fear. You have not yet felt the fires of war, tasted hard-earned victory or even  _ begun _ to understand the true meaning of suffering. You are just a  _ commoner _ who stumbled into the fields of war, fighting for another man’s pride. There is no honor, no glory in that. Only the promise of death. Perhaps that is what you truly seek.” Kriffal’s fingers started to squeeze against Yasutora’s battered skull, filling the teenager’s ears with a few deafening cracks and forcing his head to swell with a throbbing pain. Though, it was only the preface for his second wind. Somewhere, deep within the agony that wracked his body, Yasutora felt something awaken. 

“What...I seek….”An icy chill raced up his spine as his right arm reached up to grip Kriffal’s wrist. Blood from his open wounds slowed to a trickle while he broke the conqueror’s grip, staring at him with a revitalized gaze. Reiatsu sputtered from the shoulder of his armored limb before exploding in a flaming cone of fury, propelling his fist against Kriffal’s face with a satisfying crack. “....is to... _ defeat _ you!  _ EL DIRECTO!” _

Kriffal’s body didn’t just stumble back -- it flew. The air whooshed with the same audacious whistle that brought Yasutora crashing into the wall as a bleeding, ragged husk moments ago. Yasutora’s fighting spirit had returned with the renewal of his strange abilities, amplified by his proximity to pain and to Hueco Mundo. By the time Kriffal had recovered enough to stare down Yasutora, the wet layers of blood on the teenager’s face had dried into war paint, marking areas of intimidation around his fiery gaze. He made a quick dash at Kriffal but slammed his fist into the ground instead, forming a fissure that made the conqueror lose his footing. His foot sank into the rapidly cracking floor, trapping his ankle and leaving him just distracted enough for Yasutora to batter him with the combinations of a boxer.

Energy was flowing through Yasutora’s body without end, fueling him with every jab, hook and straight. The feeling of a solid impact drove him further and the sight of black blood whipping from Kriffal’s face elated him to the point where he wished a crowd was present to witness his moment. His body whipped, hips swayed and shoulders tucked as if he were training for a championship fight, not letting Kriffal have a second to breathe or use his shadow limbs. The bludgeoning ended with a jaw-splitting uppercut that freed Kriffal from the fissure and launched him in the air, only for his armored body to slap against the ground like a wet fish. “I guess your talk about suffering wasn’t just a bunch of hot air. Thanks to you, I have the power I need to get through you and find Orihime.”

“You still do not understand, do you? Hmph. The ignorance of youth.” Kriffal pushed himself off the ground and to his feet before spitting some blood off to the side. His eyes, once littered with purple specks, were now glowing bright with the power of the Nether. He reached up to remove his helmet from his head and whipped his hair from its bun with a few powerful shakes, letting the thin black strands drape over his armor. The Primordial Reiatsu that Yasutora had been fighting against had mysteriously lifted, leaving the air light but tense. “When you are on the battlefield, you  _ never _ stop analyzing your enemy. No matter what blessing is given to you during an act of war, no matter how many battles you win, arrogance can snatch your life from you in an instant. But you have not suffered enough to even be betrayed by your boasting. You do not even understand that the strength of your enemy can come from the most unexpected of places.”

“I’m not following. Is this a more elaborate way of the cliché saying ‘don’t get cocky, kid?’” Yasutora clenched his fist, already looking for a way back into Kriffal’s range to knock his lights out.

“It is a more elaborate way of me saying that you  _ lost _ the moment you encountered me. Perhaps if you would have come across one of the  _ other _ Nether Beasts, you might have been more fortuitous, however doubtful that may be. But I am the only one of the eight that has embraced my suffering, who acknowledges my sins. Before I kill you, and erase the last vestiges of hope you cling to, I will show you true suffering. Perhaps, then, you too may achieve strength in death.” Kriffal’s Theta symbol cracked and split as the sound of warbling bass filled the area. “ **_B L A C K O U T!_ ** ”

Every torch that lined the walls of the corridor was snuffed of its flame with a deafening snap of wind, leaving only darkness and smoke amidst the sound of Kriffal’s armor falling from his body plate by plate. Metallic clanks echoed through the corridor, as did his eventual, bloodcurdling screams. The terror didn’t truly set into Yasutora’s heart until a cacophony of other voices, other screams, joined that of Kriffal’s. A veritable chorus of anguish filled the teenager’s ears and nearly made him palm the sides of his head while the sound of cracking bone was introduced. Loud snaps, heavy sloshes of viscous liquid and the powerful bray of what sounded like an animal made Yasutora pay closer attention to the growing silhouette just a stone’s throw away from him. When the torches ignited again, this time with purple-tinted fire, Yasutora beheld the bestial transformation.

Kriffal had grown to nearly three times Yasutora’s height with blazing purple eyes that illuminated the black ichor which covered his furry, Herculean frame. Two purple horns jutted horizontally from his skull, long enough to skewer the bodies of five men and thick enough to consider breaking them an impossible task. His hooves scraped against the ground a few times while he readjusted his posture, transitioning from the foul screams that were rend from his chest with heavy, smoke-laden snorts. The other screams, voices that Yasutora could only imagine numbered in the hundreds or even thousands, had receded into his body as did the multitude of tar-slicked limbs, something he only caught the briefest glimpse of in the tail-end of his transformation. Beyond the gripping fear, Yasutora swallowed hard and had to contend with the fact that Ghengis Khan, or the man who proclaimed to be him, was now looming over him in the form of an anthropomorphic ox, primed to literally tear him apart.

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 25 End_ **


	26. Baile de la Muerte

_ "I don't believe that an absolute power really exists in any world. Power is unstable. It changes constantly. Small differences will always appear, as one has between you and I. So the one who widens that gap will be the winner!” _

  
  


  * Yasutora “Chad” Sado



  
  
  
  
  


Every word that came from Kriffal’s hulking frame quaked the room and forced Yasutora’s chest to warble like a subwoofer. “ _ Turn back, Yasutora Sado. This is not your war. _ ”

“I….refuse.” Even Yasutora couldn’t believe the words that came from his mouth, not initially anyway. He had faced his own share of otherworldly beings while having the esteemed, and dangerous, occupation of being Ichigo’s friend. But he always had help, always had some kind of assistance or at least a sense of comfort knowing that he was in his own world. But each passing second that followed his defiant words only served to make them more hollow. He fought to keep his legs from trembling, clenching the fist of his armored hand to help steady himself. “I won’t abandon my friends.”

_ “Hmph. As expected of an arrogant youth. But I hope you realize that my transformation was not done as a last resort. I actually prefer to remain in my mortal façade, primarily because the pain I experience in this form is excruciating. Only through millennia of accepting this pain, and Lord Maharana’s help, am I able to speak with an air of sanity. The only reason I chose to reveal this form to you is to prove a point and to shatter any semblance of hope that you cling to. _ ” Kriffal gestured for Yasutora to approach him while the black substance continued to ooze slowly down his body. “ _ Come. Put everything you have into your strike. Show me just how strong you think you are _ .”

Initially hesitant, Yasutora eventually accepted the fact that he was being thrown a bone. Whether or not it was a trap wasn’t something he had the luxury of waiting out and, instead, he rushed toward Kriffal with his right hand cocked back. Blue Reiatsu blazed from his shoulder and his lips moved to belt out his signature move. “ _ El Dire--- _ ”

Yasutora’s hips twisted as his fist moved to smash the center of Kriffal’s chest but found himself stopping short when the face of a young boy emerged from the monster’s body. The sudden stop of the momentum had nearly wrenched his arm from his socket and introduced a fresh coat of sweat to his face. Half of the terror was in the fact that the child, who couldn’t have been more than seven, was fused together with the black ichor that constantly dripped from Kriffal. Much like the wet stage of molded clay, the child’s writhing head, mouth agape, was an unfinished sculpture. Every rudimentary detail was present but, aside from the dripping black liquid, there was no other color that could be claimed for him. That’s when Yasutora heard the voice, the same voice behind the scream. “Please! Please don’t kill me! I promise I won’t do anything, please!”

Yasutora’s mind was as frozen as his body, unable to comprehend how a child could have emerged from Kriffal’s body. At the same time, his instincts had been alerting him relentlessly for the past few seconds that he should have moved. That he should have known this was a trap, a distraction to leave him wide open for the massive fist that slammed against his jaw. With one uppercut, Kriffal gifted Yasutora with flight, leaving trails of blood in his wake and rattling the dumbfounded look that didn’t seem to leave his face. As quickly as he rose, Yasutora was snapped back down by Kriffal’s thick digits that crushed his calf and yanked him clear out of the sky. The landing, if one could call the sudden explosion of obsidian and concrete from a speeding body a landing, made Yasutora more aware of his body than he had ever been in his life. His mind moved from the mystery of the child to trying to mentally confirm that he still had all his limbs. In the blurry, bloody haze, he counted his fingers, his toes and tried to ignore the fact that his spine was screaming.

“ _ Do you understand now, Yasutora? While you cling to the conscious world, do you see why you lack the strength to defeat me? You are a newborn on the battlefield. No matter how many bullies you stood up to or how many street fights you think you can handle, true strength is earned through suffering. A will, strong enough to defeat the enemy no matter the obstacle, must be forged in the fires of war. _ ” Kriffal waved away the smoke that plumed from the crater that Yasutora’s limbs haphazardly jutted out from, watching him slowly pull himself from the rubble. “ _ A strong man would do anything to save their comrades, to win the war and protect the most important things. Within me are the people I have slaughtered in my conquests, the souls that were annihilated personally by my hand. Men, women, children---they all claw at my insides, weeping and gnashing their teeth, screaming the same pleas they did before they died. It is their suffering that has forged me and it is their suffering that brings me strength, testing the mettle of those who believe that they are strong enough to defeat me. But your heart is unscathed, too invested in moral dilemmas to use whatever strength is hidden within you.” _

“Y..yngg….you...use the people you  _ killed _ ...as  _ shields _ ?!” Yasutora clawed his way from beneath chunks of rubble and managed to wobble his legs into standing or at least a pale imitation of it. Even dripping with blood, Kriffal’s revelation made the teenager furious. “You  _ monster _ …”

“ _ Yes, we are all monsters, beasts that reflect our worst sins. Mine is murder. For eternity, I must feel the sting of being killed again and again and again. Along with their sorrows, I feel their rage, their frustration, their desperation. Can you imagine being disemboweled, stabbed, eviscerated, without end? I embody the very hell I brought to the lands I conquered. When you hit me before, Yasutora, it was not that your punches were too weak. It was just that the pain that you inflict upon me is childish compared to what I constantly experience. Though your power boost caught me off guard, it will be the final highlight before your life ends.”  _ Kriffal’s body jerked about for a right hook, not even pausing when Yasutora brought up his armored hand to shield himself. He heard a loud crack, almost a pop, reminiscent of a gunshot. Then came the hot, sudden splatter of blood that splashed just past his wrist. Yasutora’s body spun like a top while his right arm became as painfully limber and flexible as a wet noodle. “ _ Disarmed in one blow? I almost regret launching a direct attack now. This just turned into a mercy kill. _ ”

Yasutora barely managed to stand but his legs had entered a constant wobble while what remained of his decimated right arm hung limp from his body, mouth snatching up any breath he could take. His body was wracked with terror and disbelief, barely able to swallow his own bloody spit, let alone the reality that he had literally been disarmed from one of Kriffal’s punches. He knew it was more than that, though. He could feel the idle buzz, the growing thrum of excruciating pain that shot up his spine and made his jaw clench. He gathered up his energy and tried his best to dodge Kriffal’s assault but, with his surprising speed to match, Yasutora missed certain death by mere inches.

_ “Yes, this is more your speed, isn’t it, Yasutora? Fleeing from the field of battle once death is assured. But at least your true nature has finally come to the surface. Watching you in the human world, I knew you were just a pacifist at heart. Rrrraaaagh! _ ” Kriffal’s fist whipped through the air only to miss swiping Yasutora’s head clean off his shoulders by the skin of his teeth. Every punch, swing and lunge to grab hold of Yasutora was foiled by Yasutora’s drive to live, to escape the death he was certain those trapped within Kriffal had suffered. “ _ You are the type of person who could never hurt the innocent, let alone protect them. It is not in you to kill. It goes against your very design. You were born to die by the hands of a true warrior, one created to go through the hell of battle. So, stop running and face your destiny! _ ”

Yasutora had made it for at least a good two minutes before his legs started to give out. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, as much as he hoped his drive and passion would carry him through the fight, he was running on empty. His balance had become all but lost to him with blood flowing freely from his crumpled arm and he could see his stained footprints decorate the dimly lit corridor, leaving him to do little else but stare down Kriffal with all the defiance he could muster. “You...you’re no warrior...you’re...a...monster…”

“ _ We have long since established that, Yasutora. _ ” The back of Kriffal’s massive hand whooshed through the air and smacked against Yasutora’s chest with enough force to send him clear off his feet. When the teenager landed, it was an equally loud smack against the obsidian floor, sending his entire back into a wretched spasm. Only through the hellacious encouragement of sudden, spiking pain did his upper body jolt up and his mouth laid agape, eyes wide open. Instead of screams or words of damnation, Yasutora entered a cycle of short repetitive breaths. Every shallow gasp only exemplified how disconnected he was from the brink of death. All he knew is that it hurt like hell and he didn’t know how to handle it. Unfortunately, neither did his body. Kriffal’s slow approach ended with him gently pushing Yasutora’’s back against the floor with his massive hoof, flexing his leg to crack the teenager’s sternum. “ _ Yes, take those last sweet breaths of life. You may not be a warrior but you fought to your last breath. I will give you that, at least, as you depart from this world _ .”

Yasutora’s legs were completely shot. His right arm was a pulsing, mangled mess of oozing blood, frayed muscle fiber and a jumbled mass of bone that his crushed chest was on its way to match. He watched as Kriffal’s hoof continued to push, crushing everything in its slow, eventual descent. Besides the black fluid and thick fur, there was nothing to differentiate it from a hydraulic press, determined to stomp a hole clean through his chest. But before his chest caved in, before his lungs were trampled under the beast’s mighty hoof, he heard a different, metallic kind of crack. Tilting his head to look at his chest, Yasutora saw that his coin had gotten in the way of the hoof only to crack and split into asymmetrical fragments that spilled onto either side of the floor. When he saw that only a jagged remnant of his grandfather’s coin hung from his necklace, he felt his world slow down. Instead of the gruesome sound of his own body being broken in half, he heard his abuelo.

  
  
  


**_“Yasutora, you’re strong. But your fists are not meant to hurt. Do you remember what I told you, nieto? Do you remember why you were gifted with this strength?"_ **

  
  


“ **_Para proteger a las debiles!_ ** ” In defiance of Kriffal’s crushing hoof, Yasutora’s broad chest inflated with what he hoped was muscle rather than a sudden pool of blood. Before Yasutora could realize it, he had ripped the ox’s muscular leg clean from its socket, sending it across the room and into the distant darkness with a wet, heavy slop. Kriffal fell to the knee of his remaining leg and tried to quickly figure out where Yasutora got the sudden burst of energy from. When his eyes settled back on the teenager, he saw that his entire left arm was encapsulated by white armor, by  _ Brazo Izquierda del Diablo _ . It was the same arm that had plunged into the inky blackness of Kriffal’s chest, forcing him to stumble back.

“ _ Wh-what are you doing?! _ ” Kriffal brought his fist down to try and crush his left arm but was deflected by a raggedy yet surprisingly powerful  _ Brazo Derecho el Gigante _ . Where blood once gushed without end, blue flames of Reiatsu fumed with the vigor that blazed in his soul. Kriffal stared into Yasutora’s one uncovered eye, soon reminded of the blood that smeared across his face. It wasn’t war paint and it wasn’t the languished smears of the weak. It was the mark of a resilient spirit. A true expression of strength. 

“I’m protecting...the innocent...fighting for those... _ who can’t fight for themselves _ !” Yasutora ripped the small body of an eight-year old from the viscous tar of Kriffal’s body, forcing the creature to bray in pain. The child’s body dissipated into the darkness with tears of blood rushing down his face and a final shout of elation. Yasutora’s hand plunged back into Kriffal’s gut to pull the long hair of a teenage girl, one that Kriffal tried to pull back into his body, encapsulating her entire abdomen with his meaty fingers. Thick, blocky teeth clacked repeatedly as he violently shook his head, grunting with all his might to bring the girl back inside the darkness. But each time he resisted, each time Kriffal defied Yasutora’s newfound might, he found himself at odds with that same stare, the zenith of resiliency, of guardianship. And he found that his strength, in this case, was underwhelming. “Rrrraaaaaggggggh!”

“ **_Yyaaaaaaaaggghh!_ ** ” Kriffal’s scream bellowed throughout the corridors and caused the roof to tremor. The former conqueror scrambled back, this time escaping Yasutora’s next impaling attempt. But Kriffal’s newfound sense of pain left him wide open for the explosive right hook of the teenager’s  _ El Directo _ . His massive body jerked from Yasutora’s blow but he wasn’t allowed to fall. Every slam of Yasutora’s fist left Kriffal wide open for yet another innocent soul to be torn from the viscous imprisonment of his body and every rejected attempt from his left hand only brought his right fist back for more punishment. It was an odd dance, a boxing match that Kriffal had not expected. Grab, then parry, then punch, put on an excruciating pattern of repeat that Kriffal started to lose ground from. Out of sheer frustration, Kriffal let out a brutish snort and opened his massive mouth to rip Yasutora’s head from his shoulders. 

“ _ EL DIRECTO! _ ” Yasutora’s upper body jerked back and sank low as he watched Kriffal snap his huge, blocky teeth to eat a mouthful of nothing. He then followed up his dodge with a brutal right hook that sent Kriffal flying through several pillars and into a nearby wall. Several of the torches attached to the wall fell and the flames spread out along the floor near Kriffal, whose body had been impacted into a fresh crater. While Kriffal rushed to regeneral his missing leg, Yasutora stepped beyond the growing wall of flames and locked eyes with him. There was something about Yasutora’s eyes, the way they flashed, the way the fires made them look nearly otherworldly. That’s when he realized that it wasn’t just an aesthetic. It was the god he spoke of working through him, amplified by this rare moment of pure justice, of judgement. Kriffal tried to pull himself from the crater for another round but Yasutora’s voice boomed in opposition, steeped in a tone that wasn’t human. “ **Quédate donde estás!** ”

As if compelled, Kriffal’s body slammed back into the crater of its own accord. Hundreds of hands then emerged from Kriffal’s body to keep him pinned down, earning his snorting, growling ire. By the time Yasutora was a mere arms-length away from him, Kriffal’s face filled with an uncertainty, a fear that he hadn’t felt in centuries. The souls that Yasutora had pulled from his body --- men, women, children and even the animals he had slaughtered --- they had all gathered behind Yasutora to stare at Kriffal. He tried to attribute it to a delusion born of pain or the sudden flames that had now fanned out through the corridor. But he had little time to contemplate the reality of his sins staring him down, especially with the crackling blue disks of Reiatsu that quickly formed on the fingertips of Yasutora’s left hand. In his right hand hung the broken peso necklace. 

“You were right when you said there was a clear difference in our suffering, Kriffal. Your suffering is the kind of anguish that a bully has to deal with every time they leave an innocent beaten, hospitalized or dead. Your suffering  _ is _ earned and it gives you a certain drive, the drive to cause even more suffering. Most men are redeemed, if they seek to be, and the suffering ends. But you were cursed to an eternal cycle, killing, pillaging, raping --- you destroyed the lives of those around you and you claim your sins to be your strength, that you are owed the strength of these people whose lives you ended. But you are  _ wrong _ .  _ That _ strength is fleeting, self-destructive. True strength comes through sacrifice, through the willingness to do anything to protect the innocent, by putting aside every urge to destroy those who would destroy you!” Yasutora’s left hand slowly closed into a tight fist as Reiatsu crackled violently along his arm. His limb was trembling with strength while Kriffal was merely trembling. The hands that anchored Kriffal’s struggling, jerking body to the wall had then clawed away a solid area in Kriffal’s chest void of both souls and protection. The smooth, sleek surface of black fluid reflected Yasutora’s face in its sheen, surrounded by the halo of purple flame. “ **_La Muerte!_ ** ”

Yasutora’s left fist came forward with a devastating straight as the momentum of his body’s synchronized movements helped literally knock the wind out of the Nether Beast. Blood rocketed from Kriffal’s nostrils and mouth to spill on the ground while the wall behind the beast exploded into a new morose architecture. Chunks of obsidian and concrete blew out to form the crude shape of a skull that glowed with the sudden exposure of moonlight from the deserts of Las Noches. A secondary burst of force came from Yasutora’s fist to blow out what remained of the wall and send Kriffal careening into the thick plumes of smoke.As the torches of the corridor behind him were snuffed out by rogue winds and powerful currents of the night, Yasutora walked outside to find Kriffal’s body amidst the shifting clouds of vaporized debris.

When Yasutora saw the quick approach of a shadow from the smoke, his right hand cocked back and raced forward to strike. But the screech of Kriffal’s black falcon startled him instead, racing toward his face only to ascend overhead and glide toward the moon. It was somewhere between hearing the eagle’s cry and watching it form a silhouette over the moon that Yasutora felt the warm, burning sensation of Kriffal’s ox horn impaling his chest. He reached to try and pull the horn out, all five feet of it, but was instead bucked repeatedly. The goring continued for a few seconds more before Kriffal shook Yasutora from his horn and slammed him into the sands below. Blood pooled from Yasutora’s chest and glinted in the rich light of the moon while he felt the dark liquid begin to gather in his throat.

“A soldier...fights….until the very….end…” With the smoke completely cleared, the moon revealed both the life-threatening injury of Yasutora and the massive hole that had been blown through Kriffal, leaving him without a torso to speak of. After his final retch of black blood, some of which spilled on Yasutora, both Kriffal and his falcon fell to the sands with a simultaneous thud, dispersing into nothing but black dust. 

“Hold on...Ich...igo….hnnggk!...Orihime….Renji….I’m right….behind you…” Yasutora’s right hand clutched onto his broken necklace tight, but his fingers had already begun to waver in strength. As Yasutora’s breathing started to slow, he swallowed the blood that gathered in his mouth and looked to the moon until his vision faded to black. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 26 End_ **


	27. Chosen Blood

_**Las Noches - Tres Cifras** _

Uryu Ishida’s steps were quickly becoming cumbersome, even for someone of his patience. For over an hour, clad in his white Quincy uniform, he had walked the dimly-lit halls of the massive structure without so much as a word from Ichigo, Yasutora or Renji. Some rooms he happened upon were completely empty, even of light. Others hinted at a previous occupant but were so devoid of Reiatsu that he knew they were long since abandoned. There was a caveat to his seemingly aimless wandering, however, a sort of nipping at the back of his mind he was eager to scratch. Throughout the contrasting beams of moonlight and pitch black darkness that swirled together to make the environment feasibly visible, there was the feeling that he was being followed.

It wasn’t the usual sense that someone was peering around corners and matching his footsteps but rather that the darkness itself was looming over his shoulder. There were a few times where Uryu, unnerved by a sudden sensation or chill, suddenly turned about and even had the urge to call out for someone. But each time, he found himself more foolish than cautious, thinking that the deafening silence between his paces was starting to get to him. The search seemed fruitless, both for a way out and an escape from the sense of dread, until the sensation of being followed instantly disappeared the moment he started to approach the opening of a moonlit room. A few drops of sweat formed on his temple as he inched closer to ever closer, feeling a knot in his throat from the growing sensation of danger at every step.

“Gaaah!” Uryu’s growing anticipation was rewarded with a cloud of bats once he rounded the corner into the room. The furry creatures screeched as the thunderous flap of their wings nearly knocked him off his feet. Thinking them to be more than just a coincidence, Uryu drew his Heilig Bogen and took aim. The bats quickly dispersed into the darkness, leaving the Quincy to slowly walk beyond the door frame. Even in the darkness, moonlight outlined the presence of hundreds of towering pillars. Light and darkness contoured the spacious room in such a way that one could easily believe that there was no end to it or that one step into the darkness would have dropped Uryu into a bottomless pit. He took slow, measured steps while taking note of the idle chirps of bats further away, keeping his bow at the ready.

“You’ll do nothing but scare them, you know.” A voice called out from the darkness in a casual, almost conversational manner, prompting Uryu to hurriedly search for its source. Anxious but confident, Uryu kept his head on a swivel as he saw the darkness slowly obscure the doorway he had just walked through. Wherever he was, escaping would prove challenging. “Most people go where they don’t belong and are surprised when they encounter danger.”

“Where are you?! Show yourself, now!” Uryu tried to keep his wits about him, mostly by focusing on the facts at hand -- whoever was speaking was a man and had a foreign accent. Although paltry information for the common person, Uryu clung to any knowledge he could while in enemy territory, believing that all it took was one crucial piece to leverage the upper hand and ease his mind.

“If you had not spent so much time acting out your paranoia, you would have seen that I have been standing here this entire time, boy.” From beyond the darkness, a male figure came into view through Uryu’s peripheral vision. He could have sworn that he wasn’t there before. He didn’t move too far into the room and he had been keeping tabs on his surroundings like a hawk ever since he walked through the doorway. That was when he sensed the same creeping dread that had been following him throughout the building, the idle weight that pushed against his shadow and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The man was dressed from the neck down in some type of medieval armor, deep black with accents of purple and gold. Draped around the royal suit was a fitting red cape that sank into the surrounding darkness. The moon carved out the detail of his pale face, fitted with a thick brown mustache and framed with long, flowing hair. Shadowed by the arch of his brows, his eyes shared the same dark, visual disturbance as the room. On his forehead was a Theta symbol. “You see?”

Uryu aimed his bow at the man, locking his body in place. He was ready to take the shot at a moment’s notice. “Who are you? Are you the one who was following me this whole time? Your Reiatsu...it doesn’t feel like a Hollow….but it’s familiar.”

“I am just an old man who’s been sent to do a bit of work. As cautious as you come across, I find it interesting that you allowed me to lead you here so easily. I even tried raising my aura to see if you would get the hint. But perhaps you don’t share the same fear as other men I have encountered.” The man’s body was unusually still, even to the point of his armor and cape remaining completely static. Although his mouth moved, nothing else did. “I assume you’re Uryu Ishida, the Quincy? You were briefly part of the Family, albeit not _officially_ initiated. It’s a shame the ginger girl had to take away your blessing so abruptly. From what _I_ saw, you had the potential to annihilate those Shinigami barbarians _single-handedly_.”

“The Family? So, you must be one of Sinister’s lackeys. The Nether isn’t a blessing and Orihime saved me, so you can stop trying to recruit me---” Uryu’s glasses reflected the moonlight in a way that made his lenses glow with determination. “---and start identifying yourself.”

Within the man’s dark sockets emerged two golden eyes that stared directly into Uryu’s, spreading the dreadful feeling through his bones with a single glance. “I was once known as Vladimir Tepes, Ruler of Wallachia. Though, I was infamously known as _Dracula_ . Through my penance earned in death, my name under Lord Maharana’s command is _Wallox Onio_.”

“That has to be the _stupidest_ thing I’ve ever heard. I’m not that gullible. Just because the supernatural exists, doesn’t mean that---” Uryu’s fingers tensed and his lip quivered from the distance between himself and Wallox vanishing before he could realize it. Wallox’s hand was pressed against Uryu’s cheek while his heart raced uncontrollably, his tongue stuck in his throat. The chilled steel of his aristocratic armor made his neck twitch and his body tense.

“That vampires don’t exist? Hm?” His mouth parted briefly to release a copper-scented chuckle, rancid and stagnant in its odor. Sharpened fangs briefly peered over his lower lip before being hidden behind his wandering tongue. The darkness that enveloped him blotted out the stray beams of moonlight that once surrounded Uryu, leaving him to stare at Wallox’s golden eyes that were unmoving, unblinking, boring into his spirit with every passing second. “Nearly everyday, your kind exterminates phantoms and monsters but, _somehow_ , vampires are simply too fantastical to believe? I can hear the blood pumping through your body, Uryu. I can hear how quickly your heart beats to the presence of my voice, dancing to the rhythm of my words, excited by my very cadence. That is _terror_ , Uryu. You may say you do not believe in me but the human body is a terrible liar.”

“You’re just….an urban legend.” Despite his uncertainty, Uryu knew, Dracula or not, he couldn’t hesitate for much longer. An enemy was in his space and, soon, the first strike would need to be taken.

Wallox’s mouth opened wide in a mocking smile to reveal the fuller aspect of his vampiric fangs. Traces of moonlight illuminated his sharpened teeth. “I’ve heard this type of denial many, _many_ times when, in all honesty, I was the ruler of a prosperous land.”

“And a brutal tyrant. A _murderer_ .” In some strange way, Wallox had given Uryu the small break he needed to take a shot from his Heilig Bogen. In that moment, Uryu’s perception of the mythical creature that stood before him had retreated from the supernatural and entered the conventional, relying on all the knowledge he gained from researching the former Ruler of Wallachia for class. In that moment, however small, the legends faded away and he had become a simple man from Romania. A Heilig Pfiel raced through the darkness to illuminate nothing but more empty space and towering pillars, completely missing the mark at point blank range. Uryu turned quickly to his side to see Wallox reappear from the darkness, peering at him with those same golden eyes. “If you are who you _say_ you are, mythos aside, you were just as cruel and unforgiving. Man or myth, you are a _monster_.”

Wallox took issue with this, even going so far as to mold his unnerving stare into a scowl. “You may speak of me as you please but I did the best a ruler ever could for their people. There is no denying that Wallachia flourished and prospered under my rule and the Nether I channeled in my time in the Human World only made that all the more clear.”

“Your _best_ included creating a macabre display outside your caste out of the very people you claimed to have helped. You bled out your people and made them suffer, all so that you could gain more power.” Another shot rang out from Uryu’s bow, this time illuminating the blurred movements of Wallox as he dodged, if only briefly. When he felt that creeping dread rise behind him, Uryu dashed forward and spun his body around to fire another shot at the stalking vampire. Though it was another miss from Wallox’s incredible speed, he did manage to rip a chunk off of one of the pillars. As smoke started to commingle with the moonlit darkness, Uryu tried to stay mobile, taking small steps while watching his surroundings. “I saw that Theta mark on your head. Your affiliation with Sinister is further proof you’re not as charitable as you claim. Frankly, I don’t care if you’re the actual Dracula or just some delusional Arrancar. You’re going to tell me where the hell Orihime is.”

Wallox appeared atop one of the pillars and gazed down at Uryu, letting his ominous voice fill the room. Even with his proximity to the moonlight, parts of his body were still shrouded in darkness. “The ginger girl is with Lord Maharana. That is all you need to know, boy. Now, are you going to continue this pitiful archery or are you ready to accept that the only place you have any promise is with the Family?”

“I will _never_ disgrace my family by joining _yours_!” For a few minutes, talking had been suspended and replaced by a high-speed game of cat and mouse. Although Uryu couldn’t hear him and was barely able to keep up with him visually, that sense of dread was concise enough for him to know what direction he should have aimed his frustration. One of his arrows, launched after a feinted pull of his bow, ruptured another of the room’s pillars, causing most of it to collapse and introduce a thick wave of smoke. From the rubble emerged the familiar screeching of bats and the high-pitched screaming of Pesche Guatiche.

“THEY’RE IN MY HAIR! THEY’RE IN MY HAIR! OH GOD NO!” The Arrancar bolted from the darkness and ran straight toward Uryu, arms flailing and legs flexing. His head was bobbing and jerking in every direction in the hopes that he could escape the fleeing cloud of bats.

“P-Pesche?! What the he-- _aaaghh_ !” Pesche crashed into Uryu with enough force for him to completely lose his grip on the Heilig Bogen. Even with a fresh stroke of pain rising through his spine, Uryu was more concerned about getting the flailing, blubbering Arrancar off him, completely disregarding the unhinged look that his crooked glasses and loose strands of hair created. Which then made Peche all the more terrified. “Augh! Get the hell off me! What the hell are you even----get _off_ me!”

“Oh no! Uryu, you don’t look like yourself! Did you get bitten by the bats? Did _I_ get bit by the bats?! Quick, Uryu! Check me for bite marks! Ohhhh _maaaaan_ , if you see one, let me know! I don’t wanna be a vampire!” Pesche’s flailing only intensified as he pushed up against Uryu, screaming incessantly.

Wallox, who had been focused on wearing down Uryu, had finally stepped forth from the darkness, utterly confused by Pesche. One of his bushy brows raised as his crimson cape came to wrap around his armored body, his upper body leaning forward as if observing the ridiculousness in its natural habitat. He blinked and hesitantly opened his mouth to speak in a less intimidating voice, one muddled by pure bewilderment. “...uh...that’s….that’s not exactly how it works.You see, it’s actually a more complicated process that---”

“I _said_ get _off_ me! They were flying overhead and didn’t even _touch_ you! Aghk! Gnnchurbuttnnttamuhfccce!” Uryu was still caught up in the profound idiocy that was Pesche, this time forced to watch him waggle his butt in Uryu’s face with enough anxious energy to pin him against the ground with it.

“Ahhhhh, Uryu! Uryu! I feel the _tingling_ ! My butt didn’t _hurt_ like this until I ran into _you_ ! Check my butt for bite marks! Wait, what if _I’m_ a vampire and I don’t even know it and I turned you into one by crashing into _you_ ?!” Pesche wailed while wiggling and, incidentally, smashing his butt against Uryu’s face, subsequently knocking it against the ground. “Oh no, now we’re _both_ going to be vampires! Guhaaa ha haaaaaaaa!”

Even through Pesche’s painful flailing, Uryu never truly lost focus of Wallox. Once he pulled one side his red cape from his armor, Uryu fed off his sudden adrenaline to shove Pesche off of him and scoot himself across the floor to avoid a rending swipe of Wallox’s arm. The vampire’s bewilderment was quickly replaced by annoyance and a rich, deep scowl that dripped with hatred. “Cease! It's bad _enough_ that you come here and frighten these _innocent_ creatures but your mindless, incessant bickering is more than I can bear.”

Uryu quickly grabbed hold of his bow before scrambling up to his feet, quickly eyeing the razor sharp tips of Wallox’s armored fingers. Knowing that he was mere moments away from being torn in half was enough to take his mind off of Pesche and refocus on the task at hand. But, during his aim, he noticed that Pesche wasn’t hiding or even trying to continue his idiotic rant. He was just standing there, paralyzed with fear as if he were going to faint from the very sight of the supposed Dracula. Uryu’s voice was low and carried annoyance that was disguised as concern. “Pesche...move out of the _way_.”

“No need. I’ll dispose of him myself. Then we can continue our conversation, Uryu.” It was the one time that Uryu put all of his energy on concentrating, on focusing on Wallox to see just how fast he moved. And it terrified him. Not only was his speed beyond what he initially thought but the _way_ he moved made his heart flutter in his throat. If he weren’t concentrating, he probably would have written it off as some spacial blur, some smudge captured in the corner of his eye. But, here, he saw everything in a sickening slow motion as he moved to save the Arrancar. The royal armor that clung to Wallox’s body ripped his flesh in the direction of Pesche, like hundreds of scalding hot iron slabs yanking on the elastic of fresh clay. Then came the semisolid slurry of fatty tissue, followed by those miles of bloody nerves. Muscle unbound itself from his skeleton and his eyes liquified, as did the rest of him, into black blood. The reverse came to be in his eventual reappearance, perfectly bound and reformed with a cocked hand ready to impale the Arrancar through the back.

“Get down, Pesche!” Uryu grabbed Pesche’s paralyzed body and quickly sidestepped the fatal blow by mere inches. Before his vision left the spot where Pesche once stood, he got a good look at Wallox’s golden eyes staring back at him. In moments, Wallox’s armor was pulling flesh in his direction. “We have to _move_!”

But it was easier said than done. With Pesche clinging onto Uryu for dear life, unable to properly fire from his Heilig Bogen, Uryu resumed his dangerous game of cat and mouse with Wallox Onio, using _Hirenkyaku_ to dart around the darkness. Even with the moonlight as a guide, Uryu’s analytical skills only helped him so much when it came to how safe it was to land. By the time his feet touched the Reishi in the air, the floor or the top of a pillar, he spotted the sickening transition of gore of the vampire in his imminent approach. Though it disturbed him and drained him due to how intensely he had to concentrate just to understand what direction he had to avoid, Uryu persisted, hoping to outrun him and find a place where he could regroup. Wallox made this goal all the more unattainable once he started striking pillars that Uryu landed on, creating a domino effect of debris with each structure he brought down in a single strike. 

In seconds, Uryu was surrounded by smoke and rolling clouds of dust, leaving the teenage Quincy to run through a smokescreen that itself was blanketed in darkness. It didn’t take long for Uryu to lose sight of him, forcing him to rely on the familiar feeling of dread that ceased to leave. That Wallox refused to alleviate. In the midst of dodging one of Wallox’s strikes, Uryu landed atop a pillar, already preparing to race to another surface. But, by that time, it was already too late. The back of Uryu’s knee had been sliced, leaving him to stumble and even slip on the fresh spurts of blood that dripped down his leg. In the midst of losing his balance, Pesche lost his grip and fell from the pillar’s peak, into the thick clouds of debris. His comical scream echoed out until it could no longer be heard, leaving Uryu to stare up at the vampire looming overhead. As smoke intermingled with the room’s supernatural darkness and pale streaks of light from the moon, the intimidating figure of Wallox standing over Uryu reminded him of the quintessential shot of a monster movie. This time, though, Uryu didn’t have to imagine the horrors that Dracula wrought. The fangs were already at his neck.

**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 27 End_ **


	28. The Thirst That Kills

_ "You want an attack full of "killing intent"? Then come get me. My bow is full of it.” _

  
  


  * Uryu Ishida



  
  
  
  
  
  


The very idea that this was all just a dream ran through Uryu’s mind. Meeting Dracula? Completely outclassed by the king of the night? Being bitten and possibly turned into a subservient follower? It all seemed far too surreal to believe but his necrotic breath and the guttural hissing, that anticipatory, anxious sound of a thirst that longed to be quenched, reminded him just how real it all was. Wallox Onio’s fangs had just begun to press into Uryu’s neck, forming that brief indentation of resistance in the skin before the eventual give, the sudden burst of blood, when a sound forced him to pause. It wasn’t unlike the yowling screams of a cat or the chattering hollars of a distressed monkey. The sound grew louder, closer, until Wallox looked up from Uryu’s scraped skin to hear the annoying crescendo of Pesche’s yelps.

“Wh--” It was all that Wallox could get out before his face was assaulted by a thick wad of slime, knocked off his feet and onto his back. He reached up to pull at the dense layers of slime that sat heavy on his face, oozing translucent fluid. His mouth opened and closed rapidly in disgust, spewing and, at the same time, ingesting the strange fluid. Before long, the usually calm, collected vampire lord was flailing his arms and legs in frustration like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. Never before had something so gross been thrust upon him. “Whbbppppgggh! Wh--ngggghh...WH-hrk! Aahhhh!”

“Hoo hooooo! Astounded? Amazed? Astonished? It’s no surprise! Even the  _ craftiest _ enemy can’t withstand my  **_Infinite Slick_ ** !” Pesche stood tall and proud atop the pillar, and over Uryu’s body, after comically scrambling his way back up. A thick glob of the translucent green liquid dangled from his mouth as he boasted. “Not only does my technique make bat brain over here  _ completely harmless _ but I can produce an  _ infinite amount _ of the stuff! How does it taste? Does it taste good? Because if so,  _ that’s weird and you’d better not tell me _ !”

Yet, as utterly ridiculous as Pesche’s “technique” was, he was right. As strong and fast as Wallox had shown himself to be leading up to that moment, with most of his body covered in Pesche’s  _ Infinite Slick _ , any attempts at standing up, let alone being able to see through the slime that smeared over his eyes, had resulted in him falling over and shrieking in anger over his temporary blindness. Even still, Pesche unleashed another gush of his slick to splash against Wallox and intensified the vampire’s struggles threefold. All the while, Uryu’s face had shifted from horror to absolute disbelief. “Did you...did you  _ vomit _ on him?!”

“Did you  _ sneeze _ on--mgghh!?” Wallox shook his head back and forth like a dog to get more of the slime off, whipping his wet hair with his sharpened teeth clenched tight.

“Ohohohohoho! I can’t just give away the secrets of one of my greatest techniques! All that matters is that  _ you’re _ not gonna be chasing people around with your little furry friends. While you’re all slicked up, Uryu over here can shoot at you with his arrow thingies.” Pesche looked down at the bleeding Quincy, hands on his waist. “Isn’t that right, Uryu?”

“Hrrrgghh!” While Wallox did struggle with trying to make it to his feet, he was settled diving from the ground in an attempt to pierce Pesche with his armored fingers. But, much to his dismay, his fingers slid effortlessly off of Pesche’s midsection and to the side, leaving Wallox to smash face first into the slime-riddled pillar. “Whggtt?! Gah!”

Again and again, Wallox tried to land a blow on him and his Theta symbol even pulsed in anger on his forehead from the frustrating realization that, no matter how hard or how fast he tried to strike down Pesche, he slipped off his body each time and only managed to bang his body up with every subsequent slip and fall. Pesche’s laughter was just salt in the wound. “Not so big and bad now,  _ are _ ya? With your  _ spooky eyes _ and weird  _ snaggleteeth _ ? In case ya forgot, this is  _ Hueco Mundo _ , not  _ Transylvania _ . The  _ Arrancar _ rule the roost around here! Hey, Uryu, why don’t you get one of your arrow things and hit him right in the heart? You know, like those books say to do? Then he’ll die and go poof!”

With the sliver of patience that Wallox had miraculously held onto, he steadied himself on his hands and knees before carefully trying to stand. Even with his supernatural ability, finding friction atop the flat, smooth, slimy surface of the pillar was a daunting task. After all of thirty seconds of him staggering, wobbling and quietly cursing to himself in his deep bout of concentration, Wallox had finally managed to stand to his feet, albeit with some of Pesche’s slick still dripping from his face. “First….of all, you just ruined a  _ very _ nice cape. Second of all, THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS!”

As Uryu took the time to stand to his feet beside Pesche, the latter whispered in Uryu’s ear while he kept one condescending eye on Wallox. “Tch. I bet he never even read the books. What a casual.”

“ **_B L A C K O U T!_ ** **”** The looming dread that Uryu had once felt, had once used to try and pinpoint where Wallox was, had become nearly overwhelming. Wallox’s Theta mark “split” and his eyes soon pooled with blood. Clouds of smoke that had once blanketed the area were replaced by a screeching torrent of vampire bats that blotted out every beam of moonlight that tried to pour in. Pesche’s once overconfident stance had been broken by the sudden quake of the pillar and its eventual collapse, sending Pesche tumbling back into the infinite darkness that engulfed the chamber. Uryu had enough sense to give less credence to the pain that idly throbbed at the back of his knee and more worry to the set of glowing, purple eyes that bored into his soul from the thickening darkness. 

Even though Uryu was certain he had a solid footing atop the pillar, he felt as if the platform beneath him could have vanished at any moment. The very concept of light had disappeared except for Wallox’s piercing purple stare and the reflection of such on his glasses. It wasn’t long before the eyes were joined with the long, almost emaciated limbs of an anthropomorphic vampire bat. But it wasn’t like the monstrous forms Uryu had seen in the low-budget vampire films or any type of bat he had taken notice of at the Karakura Zoo. Uryu initially believed that Wallox was holding two-handed swords in the hands and feet of his new, bestial state. His heart skipped a beat once he realized that the unnaturally long, bladed protrusions were actually his claws. 

In relation to his wings, which spanned beyond the residual glow of his blazing stare and into the dark, Wallox’s size dwarfed Uryu’s much like an eagle dwarfed a mouse. Black fur bristled along the vampire’s otherwise balding flesh as the thunderous sound of countless bats echoed out, all of them feeding on Wallox’s blood. A chill swept over Uryu’s body and the darkness only made it all the more constrictive, forcing chills to repeatedly race up his spine. The Quincy’s mind pulled from excerpts of Dante’s Inferno, almost inviting the terrifying delusion that he may have been staring down the devil himself in the icy ninth circle of Hell. Whether it was fortunate or further damning of his delusion, Wallox’s voice, and the deep, demonic pitch that carried it, jerked him out of the daze of horror he had been led into. “ _ That beetle...they’re lost in the dark. But you’re not, are you? No. You aren’t so easily swallowed by that boundless void. But I was. In a way, I still am. I fed off of my people, my countrymen and my enemies to gain power, to wield the Nether in the waking world. Now, my penance is to feed these children of the night in a meager attempt to fill their eternal thirsts. They can smell your blood, as can I, Quincy.” _

Once again, something that Wallox said jarred him out of the realm of supernatural fear and propelled him forward with the primal need to survive. All it took was a subtle threat, a direct call on his life made, not through unintelligible gestures or the screech of madness, but through the voice of a sound-minded killer. Uryu pushed his glasses up along the bridge of his nose and steadied his feet into a proper stance before summoning his Heilig Bogen, letting the blazing glow of his prepped Heilig Pfiel form a cone of light in front of him. Though his heart rapidly pounded against his ribcage, his face soon became stone and his mind wise. He refused to be hunted. “If you want my blood, you’re gonna fight for every damn drop,  _ Impaler _ .”

“ _ Such arrogance. You will regret not joining the Family! _ ” The rapid flaps of Wallox’s wings generated enough power to produce gale-force winds and pushed Uryu closer and closer to the edge of the pillar. He struggled to maintain both his stance and his balance long enough to jump out of the way of the massive bat’s swooping talons. In the brief moment Wallox’s body was illuminated from the scant sources of light, Uryu saw how grotesque his body had become, how his jaw split down the middle to spread much like the wings that sprouted from his back. He saw the secondary, circular maw inside Wallox’s mouth that was lined with razor sharp teeth and the hundreds of thousands of bats that cleaved to Wallox’s body, chittering during their eternal feast. What he had trouble seeing was pretty much everything else.

Even at the behest of his fight or flight, Uryu hadn’t thought about exactly how to move about during the fight. When he leapt from the pillar, his eyes darted around in search of something, anything, he could land on. Feeling gravity yank him into the boundless black, Uryu shot off one of his Reishi arrows to light the way and gave him the ability to see an adjacent pillar that he raced on top of. Once he found his footing again, he locked his eyes on the pair of purple ones that burned through the dark, prefacing the massive bat that tried to snatch him up again. Over and over they did this dance of Wallox swooping in like a hawk to capture his prey only for Uryu to race through the darkness, shooting off arrows to move from pillar to pillar. Even when Uryu managed to fire off arrows in an attempt to pierce Wallox, he was disturbed to find that they were knocked away like hollow reeds, exploding against the surrounding pillars. “ _ Arrows, Uryu? I’ve had armies of archers attempt to pierce my body, countless warriors brandish their blades in the hope of wrenching my innards with steel. But none have the thirst for victory that I had. That is why  _ **_I_ ** _ conquered and  _ **_they_ ** _ perished! Maybe you need a little boost. Maybe you need to return to the ruthless strength you possessed when you fought that manic scientist in the Soul Society. Don’t worry, Uryu. I don’t need to  _ **_bite_ ** _ you to bless you with my power. I’ll just share  _ **_my_ ** _ blood instead!” _

The tedious cycle of dodging and attacking was soon elevated into a race to see how long Uryu could dodge the thick, congealed balls of diseased blood that Wallox vomited from his throat. Instead of firing his Heilig Pfiel to try and injure Wallox, he was pairing the literal shots in the dark with his  _ Hirenkyaku _ to keep away from his corrupting touch. Uryu heard the thunderous flaps of his wings, the rising volume of his colony of bats and even smelled the wretched scent of the Nether-infused blood filling the entire room with an odor that made his stomach turn. During the chase, Uryu reached one hand into his jacket and, with the other, fired off one more Heilig Bogen, allowing him enough light to slide across a pillar surface. The darkness engulfed him, as did the choir of screeching bats that hailed the powerful flaps and raspy breaths of their vampire lord hovering before Uryu. And still, the Quincy spoke with the utmost confidence. “You should really shut your mouth.”

Wallox perched his massive body on an opposing pillar and craned his neck to peer down at Uryu, attempting to emphasize on the size difference between them. “ _ A valiant heart. Daring. How succulent it must be.” _

In a flash of light, a gash spread across Wallox’s cheek, forcing him to flinch and look away from Uryu. His vile screech echoed throughout the room as his talons gripped his perch with nearly enough strength to crush it beneath his body. By the time he turned back around, the Quincy was nowhere to be seen. Just as his nostrils flared to pick up the scent of Uryu’s bloody wound, he heard his voice in the dead of night. “Someone as heartless and evil as you doesn’t have the right to quantify the capabilities of the kinds of people who put monsters like you in the ground for a living. For someone calling themselves Dracula, you sure are less subtle than the movies. No hypnotism, no confidence, no control. Just a disgusting beast resigned to the same, pitiful evils of the world.”

“ _ Oh, I know enough about you Quincy to know that you are prideful to the very end. Just as you think that you are skilled enough to hide in the darkness from someone like me. Have you forgotten that you’re slowly bleeding out? Affected mobility aside, you’re about as stealthy as a rotting corpse. I can smell you from miles away.” _ The pillar beneath him collapsed as he leapt off its edge, wings thudding against the air as his purple gaze acted like a spotlight through the darkness. The moment he spotted Uryu standing atop a pillar, he swooped in to slash with his claws. Unfortunately, he was gone the moment he started to swing and another gash appeared along his arm. Crashing through multiple pillars, Wallox screeched in frustration and looked around frantically. Again, he spotted Uryu, sporting that stoic expression and holding his  _ Seele Schneider _ atop a pillar. “ _ So you still want to play cat and mouse, Uryu? We both know that I can catch you and your beetle friend and his magic snot won’t save you this time, so let’s get this over with! Rrrraaaaagh!” _

“Who said I was  _ playing _ , Wallox?” Just as quickly as Wallox bolted through the skies to slash at Uryu, he vanished with an astonishing display of  _ Hirenkyaku _ and left more and more injuries to pile up on Wallox’s body. Although his regeneration made Uryu’s actions seem more tedious than worrying, something stifled Wallox’s initial confidence each time he saw Uryu standing there, waiting for him to attack. Even with one of his legs gashed and his body no doubt exhausted, Uryu stood tall, proud and more confident than he ever had throughout the entire encounter. There was no gleam of light in his glasses, no urgency to use his Reishi to light the path. While Wallox became more frustrated and impatient in the dark, Uryu was becoming much more comfortable. “All this time, you’ve been masquerading as someone you’re not, acting as if you’re in control, as if the night bends its knee to serve you, as if everyone and everything that enters your domain is under your thumb. But that’s just a show, one that you needed the power of the Nether to keep up. But now? Now you’re showing the world what you  _ really _ are.”

“ _ SILENCE!” _ Wallox’s massive wings beat louder and thrummed harder, expediting the chase between himself and Uryu while forcing impromptu clashes between his massive claws and Uryu’s  _ Seele Schneider _ . In their brief skirmishes, Wallox saw the determined stare that sat behind Uryu’s glasses, the confidence that he once had as Ruler of Wallachia. Each time they came to blows, every time they crossed their weapons in the sky, Wallox felt Uryu growing stronger, his weapon burning brighter. “ _ You BASTARD! Do you fear death so much? You can’t run forever!” _

“The only one who’s running is you, Wallox. Running just like I knew you would.” With his  _ Seele Schneider _ blazing in the darkness, nearly five times brighter than usual, Uryu crouched on the ground near the base of one of the few pillars left standing. Hair draped over his glasses as he peeked through the curtain of dark tresses, one hand clenched around his _Seele Schneider_ and another seemingly clenched into an empty fist. His arms were stretched out to his side as he stared up at Wallox. “And no matter how many people you kill, no matter how much Nether you gorge yourself on, no matter what kind of aristocratic facade you try to paint for yourself, it will never change the fact that you’re nothing but a monster. No different than a common Hollow.”

“ _ HOW DARE! I AM WALLOX ONIO, NETHER BEAST OF LORD MAHARANA! I AM KING OF THE NIGHT, DRACULA! And you….YOU ARE JUST ANOTHER FAILED HUNTER, DEVOURED BY HIS PREY!” _ Wallox blitzed through several pillars on his way to try and eviscerate Uryu, those huge purple eyes growing rapidly as the distance was nearly closed. Just an arms-length away from Uryu, Wallox noticed Uryu’s empty fist suddenly pull toward his body and his monstrous form immediately halted in mid air. There was a tightness that stretched from his neck down to his feet, crippling his wings and even forcing his throat to cinch shut. As his purple eyes rolled around in his head, the light from his gaze revealed what was binding him. Slowly, he surveyed the pillars that were still standing and the razor thin wire that connected them into a perfectly placed trap. “ _ Whhggbbrrr! Hnngggaaaahhhnnngghh!” _

“ _ Silber Draht _ . A fitting trap for someone who fights like an animal. As soon as I understood your pattern, all I had to do was hope that you were just as predictable as you looked. And you were.” Uryu slowly stood to his feet, gently tugging on the wire trap that painfully hoisted Wallox’s massive body up and wrung against his throat. He could smell his breath and the decay that lingered there. “The bats, the darkness, the ambiguity of your movements --- you like to use every trick of the trade to make your opponent defeat themselves, to make them lose to the legend you like to tout, to make them submit to the fear you’re so happy to invoke. But a leader doesn’t rule with fear and he doesn’t shower his kingdom in the blood of those who call him unworthy. One who is truly chosen to lead his people needs only to be chosen to begin with. And you  _ never _ were.”

“ _ Gnnhhhrrrraaaah! WHY?! We are BOTH chosen! NO ONE could have hoped to challenge my rule when I was a human and YOU could have been unstoppable with the blessing of the Nether! Hngg...we are...BOTH of a superior breed! Why do you side with these...these...HUMANS?! These common HERETICS?!”  _ Wallox struggled to bring one of his claws up to tug at the wire but another yank from Uryu completely immobilized him, bringing Wallox to spill a river of drool on the ground.

“Unlike you, I never forgot that I was human. You were more than willing to throw away your humanity just to secure power while  _ my _ strength lies in the very identity of being a human.” Uryu pulled his  _ Seele Schneider _ back as the hilt soon pressed against the glowing string of his Heilig Bogen, aiming at Wallox’s heart. “And we protect our own.”

Uryu released the string of his bow, hearing a fraction of Wallox’s bestial scream before it was cut short by the destructive impalement of Reishi. The  _ Seele Schneider _ ripped through Wallox’s body, sending the hundreds of thousands of bats to flee into the darkness. The screeching creatures of the night burst into flames along the righteous path Uryu carved through the air, helping to banish the empty void that Wallox once summoned. The moon returned to decorate the room in shifting contours of light and darkness, revealing Pesche slowly peeking his head out from behind a damaged pillar. “I-is it over, Uryu?”

Uryu pushed his glasses along the bridge of his nose and walked with a slight limp, moving in the direction of a passage beyond the broken pillars that the moonlight revealed. The creeping dread that once weighed on his shadow had slipped away, leaving him to breathe a sigh of relief. “Let’s hope so.”

  
  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 28 End_ **


	29. Bite My Heart

_ "Every time you and I connect with each other, a little bit of heart is born between us. Heart isn't something inside you. But whenever you think, whenever you remember someone, that's when heart is born. If you were the only one alive in the whole world, heart wouldn't exist now, would it?” _

  
  


  * Kaien Shiba



  
  
  
  
  


**Las Noches - Aaroniero’s Palace**

Rukia Kuchiki had taken few breaks in her search for Orihime and the friends she had been separated from after her entry into Hueco Mundo. After darting through maze-like hallways and long corridors, she had finally come across a flight of stairs that seemed promising, leading to a place far above the ceilings of Tres Cifra and into the darkness. Once she had reached the top of the stairwell, she had little choice but to start feeling around and pushed against a slab of concrete that slowly gave to her efforts. With one final push, the slab swung up and out to greet Rukia with the blinding warmth of broad daylight. Blinking in confusion, Rukia emerged from the stairwell to look across a long, pale green bridge that ended at a large, looming tower. She didn’t have long to acclimate to her surroundings before she heard a voice coming from across the way, easily two-hundred feet away.

  
  


_ Hurry! Cross the bridge...get to the tower…. _

  
  


At first, Rukia thought she was just hearing things or some misinterpreted echo across the landscape. After only a few moments of contemplation, she heard the voice again. This time it sounded closer, practically in her ear. Familiar.

  
  


_ Rukia, come on! Do you want the Arrancar to see you out in the open? Come to the tower! _

  
  


It was his voice, no doubt about it. But she couldn’t in all good faith accept that it was actually him and not just some part of her subconscious warning her of impending danger. No matter what she believed, she knew that standing out in the open in enemy territory wasn’t the best strategy and that going back from where she came was an exercise in futility. Oddly encouraged by the familiar voice that beckoned her, Rukia quickly darted across the bridge and into the adjoining tower. Once again, she had been plunged into darkness, hearing the entryway behind her suddenly seal. “Hngk?!”

Rukia stood still and silent after jerking her body around with an involuntary grunt of surprise, feeling the Reiatsu of another in the vicinity. Dim lighting progressively filled the dark area that looked to be a vast open space, the floor slick with some sort of tile and smooth enough to be confused with the freshly prepared surface of an ice rink. Halos of light conjoined every thirty feet from unknown sources to create just enough light to mirror the visibility one would expect in a starlit night. Surrounding the smooth floors were jutting pillars of similar material, varying in thickness and height like walls of artificial stalagmites. It was another few minutes before she heard the voice again.

“Man, I thought you’d never get in here! I was a few minutes away from coming out and snatching you up myself.” Rukia’s eyes darted to the strange figure that spoke up, noting the frilly black clothing that seemed to be a mixture of a hakama and eccentric royal garb. The head appeared to be an elongated black helmet that explained the muffled effect on the otherwise familiar voice. Seeing Rukia’s defensive stature, the figure reached up with gloved hands to remove the helmet, revealing the face of Kaien Shiba. “Why do you look so shook up? Thought you’d be happier to see me alive and well, Rukia.”

Rukia’s entire world had stopped. Any instincts she had to lash out and strike at the unknown were completely and utterly frozen within the chilling realization that she was staring at her supposedly dead former lieutenant. Her friend. Her hands didn’t know what to do and the determined defensiveness of her stare soon faltered into an innocent confusion, disbelief that urged warbling lips and twitching eyes. Her head tilted and she almost wanted to reach out to him, knowing that he was only a few meters away. But in her haze of uncertainty, Rukia was beaten to the punch, eyes widening when she felt Kaien wrap his arms around her and yank her off the ground for a tight hug. “Hnnn! K...ai...en?!”

“I missed you so much, Rukia. You have no idea.” Kaien squeezed Rukia tight and let out a few chuckles before setting her back on her feet, looking down at her with a smile. “I’m guessing you’ve been promoted to lieutenant now, huh? Being here in Hueco Mundo and all?”

Rukia tried to pull herself out of her brain fog but every step back to reality was wobbly, uneven and somewhat painful. Every word she heard Kaien speak helped but it hurt all the more. “I...don’t….understand. How can...you were...you’re dead…”

Kaien blinked, scratching his head and looking genuinely confused. “You know? I don’t really understand it much myself. To be honest, there’s been a lot that’s been happening that I really can’t get down. Well, I mean, at least in terms of making sense in the long run. I remember….Metastacia. That night. I remember you….falling to your blade. I blacked out and I knew I was dead. Or, well, at least I  _ thought _ I was. But, in any case, I’m glad I’m alive. Glad you are too.”

Rukia shook her head and closed her eyes tight. She started to grit her teeth, as if being anywhere near the situation pained her to the utmost. “I..I...this doesn’t make sense. But...I can  _ feel _ you, Kaien. I can... _ see _ you and  _ feel _ you and  _ hear _ you but...it just….”

Kaien pressed a hand atop Rukia’s head and gave her hair a short ruffle. “With everything that’s going on right now, trust me, I don’t think anyone can fully understand. Last I heard, hundreds, even  _ thousands _ , of people are missing from here, the Human World  _ and _ the Soul Society. Not to mention that Sinister guy.”

Rukia perked up. “Sinister...Orihime! Kaien, do you know where Orihime is in Hueco Mundo? Have you….have you seen her anywhere? Long orange hair, human, big eyes?”

“Hm? Oh  _ yeah _ ! I’ve seen her around.” Kaien lifted his other hand and jabbed a thumb in the direction behind him. “She’s imprisoned in a tower in the North, not too far from here. From what I know, she’s being watched over by one of the Espada named Ulquiorra.”

Rukia pulled away from Kaien’s hand and finally looked into his eyes, free of the haze of confusion and nostalgia that once enraptured her. Once she focused, Rukia saw the purple flecks that surfaced periodically under the dimmed lighting. “....Kaien…..your eyes. Are you….infected?”

“Infected? No, Rukia. I’m  _ blessed _ .” A few slivers of hair slid across his forehead to shade his downward gaze at Rukia, letting the carefree smile dissolve with his explanation. “It’s not what you think, Rukia.”

“You...have the plague. What am I  _ supposed _ to think?” Rukia’s hand reached for her sword but paused when Kaien held his hands out with a face that twisted into a plea for mercy.

“Rukia, hold on! I’m telling you, it’s not what you think! Please. Just...just let me explain. We’ve both come this far.” Kaien sighed. “You’ve got the wrong idea about everything. About Aizen, about Sinister, even about the Nether. They’re not monsters or serial killers. From what I’ve seen and experienced, they’re trying to  _ save _ the world, not destroy it. The people...all the souls that have gone missing, they’re trying to  _ restore _ them.”

Rukia squinted, almost offended by his words. “Kaien...I watched Aizen slaughter innocents with my very eyes. Are you telling me  _ I’m  _ the one that’s delusional? I can’t  _ belie-” _

“Rukia!” Kaien’s voice lost its jovial tone and took that of a lieutenant. When his gaze met Rukia’s, the latter let fear creep on her face. She felt as though she were back at the barracks, being reprimanded for speaking out of turn. As if sensing this, Kaien knelt down to sit on his heels, watching Rukia slowly follow suit. “There is a fear that has been in all threads of reality, one that has caused us to go through immense pain over and over again. Sinister knows what causes this fear, this pain, and is breaking things down to their very foundation, destroying this cycle of self-destruction so that people can be free, so people won’t have to lose the lives they built with one another. He’s giving us our lives, our  _ true _ lives.”

“I don’t…” Rukia’s heart was racing. Even with Kaien’s certainty, his aura, his voice, there was something that screamed danger the longer she stayed around him. With everything in her, she tried to ignore it, still holding on to hope that this was actually Kaien and that she could talk him out of whatever cultist ideology he had swallowed. Rukia flinched when Kaien’s hands reached out to touch her’s, pulling them to the center. 

“Do you remember when you killed me?” The air became deathly silent. At this point, Rukia was begging for her heart to race, for her blood to surge so that she could absorb the sound of anything other than the question he’d asked. Her eyes turned glossy and she nodded, not daring to speak the truth. She saw her head shake in the reflection of his gaze and turned away. Kaien gently tugged on her hands, stroking her knuckles with his thumb to encourage her to look at him. “You had no choice, Rukia. And that’s the problem.  _ No one _ could have given you a different option. Not the Captain Ukitake, not your fellow Shinigami and not me. Even my iron will couldn’t break through that Hollow. Sinister is that choice when we have no choice. This “plague”? It’s a blessing. With his symbol, his blessing, the “plague” becomes a source of immortality. The strength to fight for the ones you care about. The endurance to get through any trial. The longevity to be with those you care about without worrying if they’ll die from illness or from the blade of another. This is a  _ paradise _ , Rukia.”

Rukia took in his words without interruption or question, letting things sink in before finally opening her mouth to confirm. “The mark...the...Theta symbol...you have it too?”

“Yes.” Kaien pulled the collar of his uniform down to show the Theta symbol branded just above his collarbone. “As we speak, the very Reishi of the Soul Society, the Human World and Hueco Mundo are slowly reforming. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? It feels more fluid. Almost like you’re bathing in it constantly. Once they eliminate the Soul King, get rid of the old guard, Sinister will help everyone live their best lives. And the best part is that I’ve  _ seen _ it, Rukia. He calls it the Vantablack Genesis, a fresh restart to the world that’s caused so much pain. It’s  _ gorgeous _ . We’ll even get to meet his mother,  _ our _ All-Mother. Her name is Achlys.”

“Kaien…” Rukia wanted to say more but her brain stalled, wanting to make sure she said what she meant. Kaien took advantage to try and convince her even more.

“All you have to do is join, Rukia. He brought me back to life, marked me and I’ve felt great ever since. I can even take you to Orihime myself and offer you safe passage so that the other Family members don’t attack you.” Kaien’s goofy smile returned as he squeezed Rukia’s hands. “I can even train you like old times!”

“That sounds great and I’m glad that it’s made you so happy…” Rukia slowly pulled her hands away, ending with a determined snatch away from his grip. When she stood to her feet and laid a hand on the hilt of her katana, Kaien’s joy evaporated from his face, replaced with a stoic stare. “...but you are  _ not _ Lieutenant Kaien Shiba.”

“What are you talking about, Rukia? Are you okay?” Kaien stood up and tried to reach for Rukia but quickly stepped away when he saw her unsheathe his Zanpakuto. It took him a few moments to realize his palm had been sliced deep. His brows arched and voice lowered as the Mark of Theta on his chest flickered with Nether, slowly regenerating his wound. “Rukia...calm down.”

“You  _ dare _ take up the façade of Kaien and tell  _ me _ to calm down?” Every word Rukia spoke was coated with the trembling emotion she’d felt when she ran her blade through Kaien’s chest. Her eyes burned with a righteous anger as she took up a fighting stance. “I tried to deny it, to  _ reject _ the feeling that you were lying. But I knew….I knew as soon as you started to talk about Sinister and that traitor  _ Aizen _ like they were  _ saints _ !  _ Saviors _ ! The  _ real _ Kaien would  _ never _ be so  _ weak _ ! So  _ hypocritical _ ! He was a man of  _ ethics _ ! His duty meant more to him than you’ll  _ ever _ know! But the one thing that told me you weren’t him, that you were just an impostor, was his heart. Yours is  _ empty _ . And  _ foul _ .”

“Rukia,  _ it’s me _ ! Are you  _ blind _ ?  _ Deaf _ ? Do I need to pull out my Zanpakuto and  _ show _ you that I’m actually Kaien?” Kaien was anxious but not afraid. His body twitched, leaning and rocking as if he were holding back from jumping out of his skin. 

“You’d  _ better _ . If you don’t, I’ll run you through a  _ second time _ .” Albeit with a glimmer of hope that it was the real Kaien, Rukia’s icy gaze communicated loud and clear that she knew he was a fake. That the Kaien she knew was dead and gone. 

“Tsk tsk tsk. Oh, Rukia.” Kaien stood up with a casual grunt before pulling one side of his jacket back to reveal his Zanpakuto, his hair draped over his eyes. “The least you could do is call me  _ captain _ .”

If Rukia had not already been in a stance to strike, the lightning-fast slash that ripped Kaien’s Zanpakuto from his scabbard and across her throat would have spelled instant death. Instead, Rukia brought her blade up to block and skidded back across the smooth ground against his sudden, overwhelming force. Rukia parried Kaien’s sword away, swinging her blade for a diagonal strike only to run into a barrier or counterstrikes and flexible swordsmanship that mirrored the real Kaien’s skill. The clash of metal filled the silence, scarring the floor and their clothes with near-misses and superficial blows, one of which produced a small cut along Rukia’s jaw. Rukia paused and leaped away, using her Shunpo to gain a good bit of distance while a few drops of blood hit the ground. “You may fight like him but you’re  _ not _ a lieutenant, let alone a  _ captain _ ! Hyyaaaaaah!”

“Living, dead --- there’s no version of Kaien Shiba you could  _ ever _ hope to beat! And you  _ know _ it, don’t you? Even with all the doubt mounting in your heart, you can feel just how insurmountable the task is.” Kaien parried Rukia’s fresh blitz of sword strikes, trying to push back against her rapid swings. But the sudden burst of rage was still fueling her strikes, likening her offense to the emotional retaliations of Captain Hitsugaya. Every time Kaien looked into Rukia’s eyes, she squinted or changed the angle of where she gazed to focus more on his body than his face. Kaien’s mouth stretched into a wide grin while they darted through the dimly lit chamber, barely able to gain more than a few feet of distance before Rukia’s relentless assault began again. “ _ That’s _ why you can’t use your Shikai or your Bankai, isn’t it? Because somewhere deep inside, you think that this may be your one and only chance to be face to face with your beloved mentor. That you may be killing him for the second time and that---”

“SHUT up…” Rukia’s words struggled to emerge through tears as her swings came harder, laced with the chill of her Zanpakuto.

“---when you run your blade through him  _ again _ , he won’t dissolve into some no-name Hollow or disperse in a cloud of darkness.” Kaien’s tongue emerged to swipe at his teeth, cackling inbetween his taunts. His voice had lost its sense of joviality and gained all the hype and candor of an enthused sadist. “You can’t kill me like you would  _ others _ because you couldn’t  _ bear _ to stand a reality where you witness his stiff, bloody, unmoving  _ corpse _ !”

“ _ SOME NO MAI _ \---” Before Rukia could invoke her first dance, she experienced two things that gave her an immediate pause. The first was the sight of Kaien’s bare hand gripped tightly around her Zanpakuto, frosted over with the partial invocation of her Shikai. The second was the feeling of Kaien’s other hand wrenching into her innards, his Zanpakuto discarded beside him. Her eyes opened wide in shock as blood steadily spilled from her lip, groaning in pain as she was lifted high above Kaien’s head. “Hnkkgguuh!”

“The painful truth is that I know more about you than you ever could understand. You kill your mentor but doubt if he is truly dead. You understand the consequences for dawdling in the Human World, fawning after some human, but brazenly break the rules of your little barbarian clan. Heh! I bet you don’t even know who you used to be,  _ do you _ ?” Kaien cackled as he jostled Rukia’s body on his hand, wrenching his fingers deeper into her gullet while the frost on her sword slowly started to melt, mixing with the puddle of blood. “Lord Maharana showed us. He showed us the cycle he wants to break. The hundreds, even thousands, of lives that the soul goes through. The terrible  _ recycling _ of the self. It would be a shame to have you die here, to pass on to the next life, completely ignorant of the hell destined for every spirit. So, I’ll show you the cold, cold truth.  **_B L A C K O U T!_ ** ”

The Mark of Theta on Kaien’s chest flared up with Nether and blinded her with its dazzling purple light before “splitting”. First came a painful blur, then darkness. Rukia awoke elsewhere, to the sounds of bloodcurdling screams and the feeling of earth-rending tremors. Her eyes snapped open as she pushed herself to her feet, struggling to keep her balance with the trembling ground beneath her. The more she looked around, the more familiar her environment became. The humble Japanese village was in the beginnings of winter with fresh falling snow and idle winds whipping past her face but Rukia’s feeling of familiarity had grown ominous. “What….where...some kind of….”

“Earthquake, yes. Don’t you remember  _ Tokai _ , Rukia? Your home  _ hundreds of years ago _ ?” Kaien’s voice boomed from the Earth itself, his voice ringing with a higher pitch than usual. His next words, however, shot into the range of an ominous bass. “Don’t you remember the night you  _ died _ ?”

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 29 End_ **


	30. Tandem Souls

_ "I remembered where the heart lies. What's inside you is indeed Kaien's spirit body, but... Kaien is not there... Kaien... left his heart with me!” _

  
  


  * Rukia Kuchiki



  
  
  
  
  
  


It was hard enough to wrestle with the fact that whoever was speaking to her, whoever had dragged her into this alternate dimension, was not Kaien Shiba. It was doable because she had lived the relationship between them, she had been there and she knew what was and what wasn’t him. But the screaming villagers and periodic tremors weren’t things she could so readily deny. Despite having an ice and snow Zanpakuto, the chill in the air felt different. It carried a foreboding sensation that she couldn’t consciously place but, in a primal sense, understood. It took her a good twenty seconds to absorb Kaien’s line of questioning but instead of answering, Rukia refuted him. “Liar! You may have managed to trick me with Kaien but I am not dead and I won’t be dying today!”

“ _ Hahahahaha! Where do you think you and your fellow Shinigami come from? Do you not know? Or maybe you do and you refuse to acknowledge it, just as humans refuse to acknowledge that they will die one day. _ ” The ground jostled from another quake and started to split between Rukia’s legs, forcing her to hop from section to section to avoid the growing crevices. All the while, Kaien’s booming voice continued to taunt her. “ _ You are recycled souls, trapped in a neverending cycle. Your feelings, your memories, even your Zanpakuto’s capabilities --- these are all muddled imprints of the lives you lived.  _ **_This_ ** _ is just your most recent. If you hurry, maybe you’ll be just in time to see it end _ .”

As soon as Kaien’s voice stopped, the screams belted out again. Villagers dressed in Edo Period garb raced past Rukia as if she weren’t there. They tripped over growing crevices in their rush to get away, some of them even being smashed by the falling debris of places they once called home. Rukia raced across the village and through throughways, reaching out to try and grab up the injured. Their panic, though, was greater than she could hope to quell. She stopped and approached one family that bundled together near their home, virtually separated from the rest of the village by a large crack that split down one of the village’s main paths. A father wrapped his arms around his wife and son, eyes darting about like a wild animal whose time had come too soon. “Hey...hey! I can help you! Please, it’s not safe here!”

“ _ Can you, Rukia? It looks like you can barely save  _ **_yourself_ ** _!” _ The ground opened up beneath the family before Rukia could reach out to them. Their screams, though high-pitched and pitiful, were brief as the Earth swallowed them whole. Rukia lost her footing from a particularly strong tremor that nearly slammed her body to the ground, swinging her toward the gaping maw that already devoured a family. She reached out to grab a ledge of cracked Earth just before the plunge and barely pulled herself back up. Though that too was short lived when the ground split further through its main paths, dooming more villagers to a terrifying fate. Boosting herself into the air, Rukia hovered atop a solid plane of Reishi as she looked on to the terror that developed. Merchants became entangled in their side street stands before being painfully swallowed by rapidly vanishing ground. Children flickered out of existence, disappearing beneath the sudden shift of the planet, crushed beneath waves of rock and mud. Men and women became caught in large crevices that opened and closed in mid-step, binding and crushing their legs and ankles like monolithic pincers. Screams were cut short and replaced with the loud, disturbing pattern of bodies smacking the earth and the sudden, violent crunch of bone.“ _ Can you hear them, Rukia? Can you hear their suffering? No matter how strong you wish to be, death will always take you and those you wish to save. Even your family.” _

Before Rukia could belt out another rebuttal, she heard a faint scream come from a crumbling house in the distance. A pang of terror rose in her stomach when she recognized that voice. She didn’t know how but it terrified her more than any other scream that rose and fell in the village. It was only when she started bolting across the skies that the winter weather came against her. Walls of snow and icy winds battled back against her Shunpo, forcing her to push through blistering pain and teary eyes. All the while, the familiar scream only grew fainter. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

Moments before she descended upon the half-crumbled house, she heard a loud crash and saw two bodies pinned against the ground. Upon closer inspection, she nearly collapsed from disbelief. The woman who had tried screaming for help, who had just been crushed beneath the falling debris of her own home, was reaching out for Rukia with the face of someone that could have been her twin. Beyond the draped locks of black hair, Rukia saw the woman’s bulging, bloodshot eyes and the blood that sputtered from clenched teeth into the piling snow. For the brief moment of eye contact, the woman conveyed such sadness that her eyes almost immediately began to water, her brows arching as if her face was doing everything it could to apologize. Rukia reached out to her just in time to touch a frozen visage. The woman’s skin frosted into a pale sheet and her tears became little more than thick bundles of ice that froze her eyes still. Her breath became raspy and labored, struggling to make one last effort for air, for a chance to say something. On the cusp of her lips forming, the color in the woman’s eyes faded.

Another powerful tremor knocked Rukia off her feet and disrupted her thoughts, smacking the back of her head against the icy pavement. Though dazed, she was able to hear the faint gurgling cry of the baby that was still gripped in the woman’s frosted arm. She darted back up to her feet and wrenched the child free from her dead mother, taking to the skies to escape the next tremor that tore the crumbling house and the woman to pieces. As her eyes returned to the village of shattered earth and snow, the only bodies that remained were those of the dead. Limbs were wedged between fragments of jutting earth and misshapen land. Blood oozed from uprooted plains, sandwiching villagers and entangling their limbs in debris. Hands reached from blackened chasms that led to faces frozen in desperate screams and eyes locked in bulging, empty stares. Mouths remained agape and throats tensed, as if the pain continued in death. Only after the screaming ended, after the village was decimated, did Rukia dare look down at the one remaining human in her arms. This time, the tears flowed relentlessly.

She could barely handle the gruesome site of the earthquake’s aftermath and the heartwrenching guilt of being unable to save the villagers from their fate. But the sight of her infant self, freezing over in her arms, sent her over the edge. If it had been the Soul Society, some place she actually knew or recognized, she could have passed it off as an illusion, a trick that was meant to confuse her long enough for the so-called Kaien to take her out. But this village, this weather, these people --- everything was foreign to her mind and familiar to her spirit. Tears caught in Rukia’s throat inbetween wet stutters and eyes that struggled to stay open. Her tears fell relentlessly on the freezing child, the reflection of a death from another life. Though the tears forced the icy shell on the child’s skin to melt, the snow relentlessly battered against them both, nearly smothering the child in cold powder. When Rukia wiped the snow away from the infant’s face, the cold wisps of breath that wafted from between its lips had ceased. The same frigid face that their mother gave Rukia before her passing was staring up at her. It split, cracked and finally shattered from the extreme cold, leaving Rukia to watch her own infant body crumble away in the harsh, brutal winds. “ _ Ngghhaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” _

“ _ It’s not easy, is it Rukia? Watching the people you care about dying in front of you and being helpless to stop it? All the while knowing that you’re responsible. In your previous life, your mother died trying to save you. In the spirit world, she died searching for you.  _ “ Kaien’s voice echoed in the silence.

“S...st...op it….” Rukia furiously cleared her throat, trying not to choke on her tears.

“ _ Your brother almost died trying to save you. Ichigo Kurosaki risked his life to save you. Shinigami and Ryoka were at each other’s throats all because of  _ **_you_ ** _. No matter where you go, people die. People risk their lives. It is because of  _ **_you_ ** _ that the suffering continues, from one life to the next. No wonder your mother abandoned you. She chose life, a life without suffering!” _

“ _ WHO ARE YOU?! _ ” Rukia’s hoarse and desperate cry of anger roused the earth beneath her, summoning a tremor larger than any she had experienced. 

The entire village, and the strewn bodies throughout, were hastily swallowed by a massive void in the planet. The ice plain transformed into a barren void from which a towering beast emerged, cackling triumphantly. Two heads spouted between its shoulders, conjoined at the crown with a cracked Theta symbol glowing on the fused blob of flesh. Its body was a cacophony of fused Hollows, ranging from hundreds of writhing limbs of screaming Adjuchas to the melded slender bodies of Gillian. Gray flesh pulsed with an overabundance of veins that writhed beneath the flesh and faces that struggled to emerge just to sink back into its body like hot putty. One arm, which had once skillfully wielded a Zanpakuto, had become deformed with sharp fragments of bone and steel jutting out along the limb like a spiked club. Its other arm had morphed into a massive tentacle with hundreds of chattering, tongue-lashing mouths lining the surface. As the purple eyes of its conjoined faces blazed, so did the number nine that was carved into its skeletal chest. Kaien’s face emerged from the wad of flesh between the conjoined heads, letting the Mark of Theta rest in the center of his forehead as all three faces spoke in a disturbing unison --- one high-pitched, one monstrously deep and one reminiscent of Rukia’s former lieutenant. “ _ We are Espada Number Nine, Aaroniero Arruerruie.” _

Rukia’s sorrow was soon countered by a wave of disgust and horror, forcing her to take a few steps back from the monstrosity before her. Though she wasn’t too lost in shock to brandish her Zanpakuto. “I knew...I...I  _ knew _ you weren’t Kaien..”

“ _ Oh but we are! Out of the thousands upon thousands of bodies we’ve devoured, Kaien Shiba happened to be one of the most  _ **_useful_ ** _. As well as the Hollow that corrupted him, like Metastacia. _ ” Rukia’s eyes opened wide in shock as her grip tightened around her Zanpakuto. Every word that came from Aaroniero’s mouth only drove her further into anger or disgust. “ _ That’s right, Rukia. Kaien’s body, his memories, his skills ---they’re all  _ **_right here_ ** _! We are an evolutionary Espada, capable of upgrading our body with every single being we devour. We even take after the Father and his ability to evolve, although  _ **_his_ ** _ functions at an entirely different level, one that a heretic like you is unworthy of witnessing. Luckily, the Nether accelerates our evolutionary process, allowing us to access the memories of the soul. We can even resurface memories of past lives, including this day of your death in the World of the Living.” _

“So...this...all this...it isn’t real? You’re not...really Kaien and...this...isn’t real…” Rukia’s resolve crept up her spine and warmed her body, allowing her to constrict her face back into a monolith of outrage toward Aaroniero. She raised her blade, elbows cocked back and knees bent as ice and snow started to swirl around her. “You’re not Kaien. You’re no warrior. You’re just an  _ animal _ , a mound of  _ filth _ that leeches off of others, draining their hearts and crushing their minds with your treachery. A wretched chameleon. But now I see the truth and you can’t hide behind your tricks anymore.”

“ _Did I hear you correctly? Am I to believe that, since you now know the truth, you can defeat us? You can_ ** _barely_** _best a couple Hollows, let_ ** _alone_** _an entire_ ** _army_** _of them combined into_ ** _one_** **_superior being_** _!”_ Aaroniero lashed out their tentacle arm with its layers of chattering teeth lashing their tongues out to try and grip Rukia. “” _You’ll join Kaien Shiba shortly! You’ll become a part of me!_ ”

Rukia swung her blade with the coolness of a lieutenant, letting her tears freeze and crumble while her edge struck true. With every parry of the tentacle from her blade, she severed a group of tongues from the chattering mouths, causing black blood to spew wildly. Aaroniero screamed in pain as Rukia darted across the sky to avoid being touched by their corrupted blood. Soon, however, she was inevitably faced with a powerful swipe of their chattering tentacle that was coated in the dark, sickening blood. “ _ Sode No Mai! Tsukishiro! _ ”

Her blade whipped about before a massive pillar of ice engulfed the bloody tentacle. Though it saved Rukia from the imminent attack and allowed her to gain some space, the pillar shattered under the might of Aaroniero’s Blackout form before she could move in for a direct attack. The chattering mouths chewed obsessively at the ice while their heavy, wet tongues lashed against the frozen pillar, weakening it enough for the arm to break out of its frozen bondage and smack Rukia away.  _ “Ngghh….your little ice tricks won’t hurt us, Rukia. The full power of the Nether is too much for you to handle! Besides, We know all your moves.” _

“Hngkk! Hah…..hah….hah...you may know my moves...but you don’t know  _ my heart _ !” Though valiant and quick, Rukia’s blade met far too many difficulties to be anywhere near effective. Every attempt to cut through Aaroneiro’s body was blocked by the Hollow limbs that jutted from their twisted flesh, if not blocked outright by their massive, spiky club of a hand. The ice that rushed from Rukia’s Shikai lasted less and less with every attempt, eventually being little more than something for the hundreds of grotesque mouths that lined Aaroneiro’s tentacle arm to quickly devour. Rukia darted around Aaroniero’s swipes and endured the blistering cold of the winter winds that slammed wave after wave of snow into her body. It didn’t take long for everything to blend together, for the cold to numb her senses. It was exactly what Aaroniero counted on when they distracted Rukia with a tentacle parry and followed up with a vicious upswing of their spiked hand. A spurt of blood raced from Rukia’s mouth as a multitude of sharp bone and fragments of Zanpakuto skewered her stomach. “Hrghk! Nnnnnn….”

“ _ Hahahahaha! Are you going to  _ **_cry_ ** _ just as you did when your village, your home, was torn apart? Don’t worry. The Soul Society will end the  _ **_same way_ ** _. Your heresy has  _ **_cursed_ ** _ you to live a pitiful cycle of death for as long as your soul exists. No matter what life you end up in,  _ **_you_ ** _ will be the cause of pain, misery and destruction before succumbing to the desolate darkness yourself. Know this, Rukia Kuchiki --- the death of your friends, your loved ones, is all because of you. _ ” The blizzard seemed to quell mince Rukia’s body had been impaled and the once gale-force winds had become gentle wisps of air in the still, frigid night. Though Rukia’s eyes were open, they were slowly being evicted of any semblance of life, her blood rushing along Aaroniero’s deformed fingers. Their tentacle arm split open lengthwise to reveal a giant set of teeth and a tongue large enough to scoop Rukia’s body off the bloody spikes, yanking her into the amorphous limb with a loud snap of its teeth. “ _ At least you can die knowing that you’ll be reunited with your dear Kaie--uurgghh!---hnnggghh!...wh...what?!” _

Not ten seconds after Aaroniero devoured Rukia did Aaroniero feel a cold sensation dominate their body. It was comparable to being on the edge of frostbite, every nerve screaming with blurred meaning, the feeling of different limbs coming and going in a vicious ebb and flow of winter’s sting. Quickly, the sensation drew from their extremities and condensed into their chest, ripping through mutated flesh with a large, jutting spire of ice. It looked much like a random shard of ice to Aaroniero at first until they wrapped their fingers and tentacle around it, struggling to pull it out. That’s when they felt the familiar curve and edge of a katana. His entire body began to frost over and shuddered violently from the intense drop in temperature. “ _ Nooooo! What the hell did you  _ **_do_ ** ?!”

“It’s not what  _ I _ did to  _ you _ but rather what  _ you _ did to  _ yourself _ .” Rukia’s voice rang out in an ominous echo, similar to how Aaroniero taunted her just minutes ago. Aaroniero’s twisted gray flesh and deformed arms froze over as they started to scream in pain, struggling to move within the increasingly constricting layers of ice. The cloudy sky and demolished village changed from its current state to the dim interior of the Hueco Mundo building numerous times before the memory-induced illusion was destroyed, revealing Aaroniero’s humanoid body stabbed through the chest while Rukia was impaled on the Espada’s Zanpakuto. As Aaroniero’s limbs shattered from the cold, Kaien’s face broke off from their true face which resembled a long tank of pink fluid and two spherical skulls that chattered incessantly from the cold. Rukia’s body was covered in frost, the blood that spurted from her injury frozen solid into crystals. “You...lost the moment...you pierced me. I have the ability to...place my body under sub-zero temperatures to handle lethal injuries and enter cryogenic stasis. It also...lowers the temperature around me to...a similar...state. The enemy will think I’m...dead. It’s a huge strain...but...I found this situation...fitting.”

“N-no! STOP IT! You can’t DO this! Help us Lord Maharana! HELP US!” Aaroniero’s body fell apart to hit the floor in an explosion of ice and gore, leaving their cracked pink tank to smash against the floor. Their two skulls rolled through the liquid until Rukia’s cryogenic ability froze the liquid solid and conjoined them in a hunk of ice rather than flesh. On the cusp of death, Aaroniero’s eyes reflected terror instead of arrogance. While one head screamed in fear, the other transcribed the root of their suffering through hushed words and trembling breath. “No...Lord Maharana...he told us that….he told us we would be with him in paradise for eternity. Father LIED TO US! We see...a great beast..surrounded by innumerable screams of sorrow...so... _ this _ is what he meant by us all being together...he’s...he’s AN ABOMINATION!”

As Aaroniero’s skulls shattered from the cold, Rukia collapsed to the ground to thaw. Her Zanpakuto stuck to her hand but her own grip was weak, if nonexistent. Her half-lidded eyes stared at the darkness beyond her with labored, ragged breaths filling the silence. In her last words before passing into unconsciousness, she gave her regards. “Th...ank you….Kaien….for giving me...the strength of….your heart.”

  
  


**_Sinister x Bleach_ **

**_Chapter 30 End_ **


End file.
